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Polly’s Secret 











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Polly’s Secret 

A Story of the Kennebec 


By 

Harriet A. Nash 


Illustrated by Harry C. Edwards 






Boston 

Little, Brown, and Company 
1902 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copied Received, 

OCT, 6 f 002 

COPYRIGHT ENTRY 

. b - /.Cf o V 

CLASS CL XXa No. 

tp j / I 8 
COPY 3. 



Copyright , 1902, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


^// rights reserved. 


Published October, 1902 


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UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 


To 

My Grandmother 

ELIZABETH CLAT M1LLIKEN 


Who is still young in heart 


\ 

c 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Polly took the earliest opportunity to conceal it under 

the attic floor ” Frontispiece 

“ ‘ I must leave you this,’ he said regretfully” ... 28 

u ‘ Then you don’t owe me nuthinY said Sam ” . . . 142 

“ Lifting his hat courteously, he swept on down the hill ” 192 

“ ‘ I am William Train,’ he said ” 279 

\ 


& 


•pi 


POLLY’S SECRET 


CHAPTER I 

P OLLY JANE was leaning out of the 
attic window of her father’s tavern. 
An empty basket on the floor behind 
her hinted of a forgotten errand, and the 
strong scent of fragrant herbs might have 
reminded her that she had come for sage to 
stuff the turkeys. But Polly’s nostrils, heed- 
less of the fragrance within, were breathing 
in the keen October air, and Polly’s brown 
eyes were catching gleams of the golden sun- 
shine that flooded the world outside. From 
the corner store across the street came the 
sound of creaking ropes, mingled with the 
shouts of men, as they stored away a heavy 
cargo of West India goods, brought by teams 
from the Hook the night before. Beyond 
the store the south channel of the Kennebec 


1 


2 


Polly's Secret 

rippled leisurely over its rocky bed, while far- 
ther up the busy hum of the sawmill on the 
Island mocked its indolence. From the tavern 
the Norridgewock road writhed and twisted 
along the river bank, up the hill, and disap- 
peared from sight among wooded hills, glo- 
rious now in their autumn foliage. Far to 
the west, with leagues of mystery between 
them and Polly, a line of mountains, lying 
like a faint blue haze against the deeper blue 
of the sky, closed in the scene. A stately elm 
tree by the tavern fluttered its yellow leaves 
down upon the roof, the window-sill, and 
into the girl’s upturned face, but Polly Jane 
heeded them not. She was far away sailing 
on one of those fleecy white clouds, free from 
errands or work or care, steering her cloud 
ship straight towards the west, that she might 
see what lay behind that misty line of moun- 
tains. She had woven a dress from the blue 
of the sky, and a shawl to match the gold 
and crimson of the woods. She was still in 
doubt about the bonnet; that little white 


Polly's Secret 3 

cloud off over Neil Hill was about the right 
shape and size. But the cloud hung over 
Milburn, and Polly Jane had no idea of bring- 
ing her millinery from Milburn ; besides, a 
bonnet of the same material as one’s chariot 
seemed a little incongruous. Perhaps the 
russet brown oak leaves would be more in 
keeping with the costume. She would trim 
it with the purple asters in Neighbor Stew- 
ard’s garden, and — 

“ Polly ! Polly Jane ! ” 

The cloud chariot suddenly spilled its occu- 
pant in at the attic window, and the gorgeous 
dress and shawl dissolved into Polly’s every- 
day homespun frock. 

“ Polly Jane Brooks ! ” 

“ I ’m coming, mother ! ” She turned re- 
gretfully from the glory outside to the dim 
dusty attic, and, with her basket, took up the 
old load of discontent. If she could stay 
always at that attic window, Polly Jane was 
sure she could be always good, because she 
would be happy, and it is easy to be good 


4 Polly's Secret 

when one is happy. The dreams and long- 
ings of her heart, that vague reaching out 
after something, she knew not what, came 
nearest being satisfied up here. Polly herself 
could not have voiced the feeling that made 
her restless and dissatisfied at some times, 
and swelled her heart with rapture at others. 
She wondered if every one had such feelings, 
and, looking at mother and Deborah’s calm 
matter-of-fact faces, decided that in the 
Brooks family at least she had a monopoly 
of them. Sometimes, as she watched Aunt 
Ruth Taylor’s strong sweet face, on the rare 
occasions of a visit to Taylor farm, there 
came to her a faint conception of a life that 
should be brought through this strange rest- 
lessness into a haven of satisfied peace at last. 
At other times — most of the time, truth 
compels me to state — Polly forgot all about 
it, and was simply a happy girl, satisfied with 
the present, and hoping, when she thought of 
the future at all, that it would be plentifully 
sprinkled with good times. 


5 


Polly's Secret 

But to-day was one of the restless days. 
She wondered, as she went slowly down, her 
unwilling feet lagging on every stair, why 
two flights of stairs should make such a 
difference. The sinkroom window com- 
manded almost the same view, but it never 
afforded any inspiration. 

“ One would suppose you was waiting for 
that sage to grow,” was the indignant greet- 
ing as she entered the kitchen. “ Here we 
are getting ready for that ball to-night, and 
twice as much on hand as we can do, and 
you loitering up there half the forenoon.” 

Polly tossed her head indifferently ; she 
did n’t mind Deborah’s grumbling. But when 
her mother added reproachfully, “ I begin 
to be afraid, Polly Jane, that you ’ll never 
amount to anything,” the head drooped, and 
Polly went sullenly about the neglected dish- 
washing, relieving her feelings by setting the 
strongest dishes down with a thump on the 
table and making a great rattling among the 
pewter plates. 


6 Polly's Secret 

To tell the truth, Polly was in a most 
unpleasant frame of mind this morning, and 
not entirely without reason. There was to 
be a grand ball and supper at the tavern 
to-night, the great social event of the year, 
looked forward to for the six months that 
preceded it, and back upon for the six months 
that followed it. And though Landlord 
Brooks every year declared that he ’d been 
through that fuss and bother for the last 
time, the pressure of public opinion always 
proved too strong for him when October 
came around. Only yesterday fifteen-year- 
old Polly was planning for the ball as eagerly 
as any. Upstairs in the spare closet hung 
a dress of shimmering brocade, Polly’s first 
silk dress, made over for this occasion from 
one of her English grandmother’s ; and last 
week father had brought her from the Hook 
a pair of satin slippers that matched the 
dress. Deborah had looked on these prepara- 
tions with some disapproval. Staid, work- 
loving Deborah, who was twenty-three, could 


Polly s Secret 7 

no more understand Polly’s love of dancing 
and gaiety than the busy beaver at the brook 
can understand the lark. It may be that 
little row of graves that came between the 
sisters made the hearts of the parents ten- 
derer towards their youngest child. At all 
events, many of the good things of life, and 
little of its care, had seemed to fall to Polly’s 
share. Deborah thought her over-indulged, 
and it is to be feared she was not sorry when 
it was found impossible to secure extra help 
for this week, and Polly’s unwilling hands 
and feet had been pressed into service. Polly 
did n’t mind that very much. It was rather 
fun to help with a ball in prospect. She 
had stoned raisins, chopped mince-meat, and 
run errands without a murmur all the week, 
stealing time whenever she was sent upstairs 
to take a peep at the dress and slippers, 
and running downstairs to the music of 
Tom Capen’s fiddle floating in anticipation 
through her brain. 

But only this morning a messenger had 


8 Polly's Secret 

arrived in hot haste, summoning Sarah Gale, 
the kitchen assistant, and her sister Jane, 
who “ helped ” in the chamberwork, home 
to Norridgewock on account of their mother’s 
dangerous illness. Sarah and Jane, who 
secretly believed that the ball would be 
impossible without their presence, were in 
despair, assuring Mrs. Brooks that only a 
case of life and death should tear them from 
their post of duty at such a moment, and 
Heaving parting instructions about the work, 
which sadly confused the mistress of the 
tavern. However, there was no help for it. 
The mother and Deborah must do all the 
work and prepare the supper, and Polly, 
instead of dancing at the ball in her satin 
slippers, must make herself generally useful 
in assisting, setting tables, and waiting on 
the guests. Poor Polly Jane ! A good many 
salt tears dropped into the dishwater as she 
remembered the silk brocade and the dances 
she had promised Unite Bodwell. Deborah 
she knew was glad, and even mother did n’t 


9 


P oily's Secret 

care. She gloomily pictured herself getting 
even with them by filling an early grave, 
from overwork and disappointment. 

Mrs. Brooks was really grieved that Polly 
should be deprived of the long anticipated 
pleasure, but would have considered it a 
most indiscreet proceeding to say so. Her 
very sympathy with the child lent a sharper 
tone to her voice, and made her more impa- 
tient with Polly’s dilatory ways. Polly must 
learn to take life as it came, she argued. 
The future would hold harder tasks than 
dishwashing and deeper disappointments 
than the loss of a ball. 

But Polly, dejectedly scraping a pudding 
kettle, could conceive of no future disappoint- 
ment which should surpass this. The hated 
dishwashing was more irksome than ever, 
and she could never hope to finish it with 
Deborah constantly adding cooking dishes to 
the pile. It was all very well for Deborah 
to laugh and make sarcastic speeches. Polly 
felt very sure when she was Deborah’s age 


IO 


Polly's Secret: 

she should have ceased to care for balls and 
parties, and perhaps have grown fond of 
work, particularly if she might choose the 
pleasanter part of the work. It would be 
very easy to fuss with spices and sugar, 
stirring up cake and puddings, and when 
you had finished pile all the dishes in the 
sink for some one else to wash. 

Yet Polly Jane was not the only one who 
was confronted with difficulties. It was one 
of those days when everything seems to go 
wrong. Deborah’s cake fell, and her pies 
“ ran out,” filling the brick oven with sticki- 
ness and smoke. It was evident that Sarah’s 
skilful hand was sadly needed at the helm. 
The “ regulars” who boarded at the tavern 
were kept waiting for their dinner, and Mr. 
Brooks added to the general confusion by 
frequent visits to the kitchen to inquire in 
an impatient tone “ why they could n’t hurry 
things up.” 

Polly was surprised and a little disappointed 
when, after waiting on the boarders, she sat 


Polly's Secret n 

down to her own dinner to find she was 
unromantically hungry, and could dispose of 
a large quantity of boiled dish and minute 
pudding. 

Bloomfield tavern stood halfway up the 
long hill, in one of the four corners where 
two roads came together. “ Right in the 
centre of things,” as its far-seeing founder 
had declared when, thirty years earlier, he 
had framed its huge timbers, and provided 
for the future needs of a travelling public, 
with a lavishness which called forth his neigh- 
bors’ derision. Events had justified his action 
as it proved, for to-day it was a popular hos- 
telry ; and many a traveller up the river urged 
his weary steed to its utmost, that he might 
put up at “ Brookses ” for the night, the great 
square building with its ample rooms offering 
better accommodations than could be procured 
for miles below. In later years the demands 
of society had made it necessary to build a 
new wing, in which was a dancing hall. Some 
of the village fathers had shaken their heads 


12 


Polly's Secret 

at this proceeding, and the deacons of Mr. 
Brooks’ church had waited on him in a body 
to protest against the action. But after long 
consultation they retired, silenced, if not con- 
vinced, by his argument that “ young folks 
was bound to have a good time, and in his 
opinion ’t was much better for ’em to have it 
in a good clean place, where somebody could 
keep an eye on ’em.” Deacon Locke, to be 
sure, had replied that the “ end and aim of life 
was n’t to have a good time, and young folks 
were gettin’ to be too much pampered.” But 
the genial easy-going landlord, though sharing 
in the respect which all Bloomfield accorded 
Deacon Locke’s « opinions, declined to accept 
his views on this occasion. So the hall was 
finished, and became a popular place for merry- 
makings for both young and old. For then, 
as in later days, it not infrequently happened 
that older people consented to enjoy them- 
selves under the cloak of “ giving the young 
folks a good time.” Invitations for to-night’s 
ball had been sent far and wide, and teams 


Polly's Secret 13 

from the country began to come in soon after 
dinner, for the ball opened at candlelight. 

Polly’s grief intensified as her schoolmates 
arrived, and she was forced to confess she 
could have no part in the merrymaking. 
It would have been a comfort if they could 
have seen her dress and slippers. But there 
was no time to display them, for work 
accumulated, and Deborah grew crosser with 
every passing moment. Polly, it must be 
acknowledged, was a most provoking assist- 
ant, for her thoughts were with the company 
in the parlor, and at every sound of wheels 
she left her work “to see who had come 
now.” 

“ It’s the Tuckers, from way beyond Nor- 
ridgewock, Deborah,” she announced, forget- 
ting, in her excitement, the indignation she 
was harboring against her sister. But Deborah 
replied shortly that she “ did n’t care if ’t was 
the emperor of Japan, and Polly might come 
away from the window and put her mind on 
paring these potatoes.” 


i4 Polly's Secret 

Deborah had resolutely barred the kitchen 
door against all visitors, and more than one 
of Polly’s friends rattled the latch in vain. 

“ Polly ! ” called a chorus of girlish voices 
at last, “ can’t you come out just a minute ? ” 

“ No, she can’t,” responded Deborah, before 
Polly could speak. “Now you keep away 
from here. We ’ve got trouble enough with- 
out a parcel of youngones round.” 

Polly’s cheeks blazed with anger. 

“ How old do you think I am, Deborah 
Brooks?” she demanded. “I’m not going 
to be treated like a baby.” 

“ Don’t act like one, then,” replied Deborah, 
while Mrs. Brooks interposed with a fretful, 
“ Polly, don’t begin a quarrel, and Deborah, 
I do wish you ’d let the child alone.” 

Half an hour later, returning from an 
errand to one of the chambers, Polly found 
a fair-faced boy a little older than herself 
industriously turning the spits on which the 
turkeys were cooking. 

“ Why Unite ! ” she cried eagerly. 


Polly's Secret 15 

“ Look out the way there, Polly,” returned 
the boy, his eyes dancing. “ I ’m helping 
Deborah. She says I ’m a heap sight better 
help than you are.” 

Polly, a little affronted, drew back. 

“ There ’s smut on your face,” she remarked, 
“ and you ’ll be sure to spoil your best 
clothes.” 

“ I bought ’em myself,” returned Unite 
indifferently. 

Polly was quite ready for an argument. 
“ My father says it ’s no sign one has a 
right to destroy anything because he bought 
it himself,” she began. But Unite was intent 
on his work. 

' “ Don’t bother me,” he said. And Deborah 
called Polly to fill the salt dishes, and not 
interrupt those who were willing to work, 
with her idle chatter. 

Polly carried her work to the farthest 
corner of the kitchen, and turned her back 
to the fireplace. But by and by curiosity 
carried her back. “ It ’s most time to begin,” 
she suggested. 


16 Polly's Secret 

“ Is it ? ” inquired Unite carelessly, stirring 
the fire a little. 

“ You ’d better be engaging your partners/' 
continued Polly. 

“ There ’s time enough for that/' replied 
Unite, with the unconscious egotism of youth. 
“I can get plenty at the last minute if I 
want 'em.” 

“ Ain’t you going to dance ? ” asked Polly, 
with a sudden flash of hope that he might 
not. 

“ I may, and I may not,” returned Unite 
provokingly. “ I don’t care much about it. 
And it’s jolly fun in here, if you didn’t 
bother so much.” 

Polly indignantly withdrew again. Unite 
was disagreeable to-day, like every one else, 
she decided. Still his very presence comforted 
her someway. She did so hope he wasn’t 
going to dance. 

Unite continued his work without a glance 
at Polly. Having given up the evening’s 
amusement, and used every wile of his 


Polly's Secret 17 

masculine nature to insinuate himself into 
Deborah’s good graces, that he might share 
Polly’s exile in the kitchen, not for worlds 
would he have her suspect the sacrifice he 
had made in her behalf. So he confined his 
attentions to Deborah, and his manner, full 
of respect and deference, went far toward 
soothing her ruffled temper. Unite was 
rather a favorite with Deborah at any time, 
and always welcome at the tavern. The 
scion of a worthy Bloomfield family, he 
had received careful home training, and, as 
Deborah expressed it, “ did credit to his 
bringing up.” Squire Bodwell’s substantial 
mansion stood just at the top of the hill, 
and Unite and Polly had been playmates 
from their earliest years. 

The ball was just commencing when Mr. 
Brooks put his head into the kitchen, his 
usually jolly face wearing a troubled look. 

“More trouble, Hannah,” he said to his 
wife. “ Here ’s a sick man just come on the 
stage. He ’s bound for way up river, but 
2 


18 Polly's Secret 

he ’s too used up to go further. We ’ll have 
to put him in one of the best rooms, and keep 
it quiet as we can. I ’m afraid he ’s coming 
down with fever.” 

“ Dear, dear ! ” ejaculated the overburdened 
woman ; and transferring the spoon with 
which she was stirring the pudding sauce to 
Polly’s hands, with strict injunctions to stir 
it constantly, she hurried off to prepare the 
room, visions of warming-pans and poultices 
mingling with her anxiety for the supper. 

Polly conscientiously stirred the sauce until 
her arms ached, and Deborah, declaring it was 
overdone, took the saucepan from the fire, 
and directed her to set the tables for the 
supper, to be served at nine o’clock. Tables, 
constructed for the occasion of boards and 
barrels, were ranged in the long open room, 
and Polly carried thither the snowy cloths 
and blue dishes. Unite, who declared he 
was n’t ready to dance yet, obligingly assisted 
by placing in position the broad steel knives 
and two-tined forks. 


19 


Polly's Secret 

Mrs. Brooks was gone long, and came back 
at last much distressed. 

“He’s sure to be down for a fit of sick- 
ness/’ she said anxiously, “ and he ’s so done 
for we can’t find out who he is nor where he 
came from. But we ’ve got him comfortably 
in bed at last, and after he ’s had some gruel, 
he ’ll have to wait till this fuss is over. 
Bring me some Indian meal, Polly, and a bowl 
of milk. Be quick, child.” And Polly, who 
usually loitered over the meal barrel, letting 
the yellow grains sift through her fingers, 
and wishing they were gold, for once went 
speedily and returned promptly. But just at 
the moment the gruel was ready, the turkeys 
too were pronounced done to a turn. 

“ It ’s no use,” said the mother. “ I can’t 
leave now, and Polly Jane will have to carry 
the gruel up. Here, child, be careful and 
don’t spill it. The northwest chamber, re- 
member, and don’t loiter, for you ’ll be needed 
to wait on the tables soon.” 


CHAPTER II 


P OLLY slowly ascended the back stairs, 
carrying the gruel carefully. The 
errand was not much to her taste. 
She groped her way through the dark back 
hall — for the lights were all in the front 
rooms — and out through the front hall to 
the door of the northwest chamber. Here 
she paused with a strange shivery feeling, 
that made her wonder if she were not ill 
herself. An unaccountable dread to open 
the door possessed her. Something terrible 
seemed lurking behind it. A girl of to-day 
would have said she was nervous, and ran 
back downstairs. But in Polly’s day nerves 
had not yet been discovered, and such a pro- 
ceeding would have resulted in her being sent 
straight back with a sharp reprimand. When 
at last she timidly pushed open the door into 


Polly's Secret 21 

the great dim room, the sick man turned 
irritably towards her. 

66 What is it now ? ” he asked fretfully. 
“ Can't they leave me in peace ? ” 

Had he been a younger man, Polly might 
have answered sharply, so great was her 
indignation at his lack of gratitude. But she 
had been taught to respect gray hair, and the 
worn face on the pillow aroused her sympathy. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir," she said 
humbly, advancing as she spoke towards the 
great mahogany bed in the corner, “ but I 
came to bring your gruel. Won’t you please 
drink it while it ’s hot ? ” 

The stranger with difficulty raised himself 
a little, and took the bowl in his thin, trem- 
bling hands. But instead of drinking the 
gruel, he looked steadily at Polly. “ What is 
your name ? " he asked abruptly. 

“ Polly Jane Brooks," she answered meekly, 
wishing for the hundredth time that she might 
omit the Jane, yet feeling it would be hardly 
truthful to conceal her middle name. 


22 Polly's Secret 

u Jane ? ” he repeated thoughtfully. “ Jane ? 
The only truthful person I ever knew was 
called Jane. Do you always tell the truth ? ” 
he continued searchingly. 

“ Yes, sir/' replied Polly promptly, thank- 
ful he had chanced upon one of her few 
virtues. If he had asked about her temper 
now ! 

The man was silent for a few moments. 
Polly glanced around, wishing he would drink 
the gruel and let her go. The great room 
looked disordered and cheerless. The air felt 
chilly, and dark shadows seemed lurking in 
the corners. The sick man watched her until 
the intentness of his gaze drew her eyes back 
to his face. 

“ I am going to trust you,” he said slowly, 
his gleaming black eyes fixed on hers. “ Come 
nearer, the walls may have ears. You must 
take charge of something for me,” he con- 
tinued in a hoarse whisper, as Polly timidly 
advanced a few steps. 

“ I will call my father,” said Polly. “ He 


Polly' s Secret 23 

would be a far more proper person for you to 
trust.” 

“ I will trust no man,” replied the sick man 
angrily, “ and especially not one who will 
allow such a din and clamor in his house as 
is going on here to-night. It is disgraceful ! ” 

“ My father is a godly man and a good 
churchman,” replied Polly, with some heat. 
“But he does not hold an innocent amuse- 
ment like dancing to be wicked.” 

“ I said nothing of dancing,” he replied ; 
“ it ’s the noise is wicked. But come, time 
passes, and you are wasting precious mo- 
ments. You must do this, for I can trust no 
older person. You must, I say.” 

Even Polly's inexperienced eyes could see 
that he was growing more feverish each mo- 
ment; and fearful of consequences to him, 
she yielded a reluctant consent. 

“ Get a Bible,” he demanded. “ I must 
have a Bible.” 

Polly thought of her own little Testament, 
but the family rooms were locked and the 


24 


Polly's Secret 

keys downstairs; besides, the solemn warn- 
ings of the Old Testament seemed better 
suited to this man, with his strange dark face 
and tragic manner. There was the great 
Bible on the parlor table, and the guests must 
all be in the ballroom by now. Could she get 
it unseen? She stole softly down the front 
stairs and peeped timidly within the parlor 
door. The room was deserted as she had 
hoped, and, seizing the great book, she hur- 
ried back to the chamber. 

“ Would you read it, sir ? ” she asked, “ or 
shall I read it to you ? ” 

The thin hand waved a gesture of dissent. 
“ No, no/’ he said. “ I want you to place 
your hands upon it while you promise me that 
you will never tell any living person about this 
package until I come or send to claim it.” 

Polly Jane drew back. A promise on the 
Bible was a sacred and awful thing. She be- 
gan to be afraid of this strange man, and the 
odd shivery feeling crept over her again. 
“Oh, no, no,” she said. 


Polly's Secret 25 

The sick man, as if he read her fear, soft- 
ened his voice. 

“ Come, child,” he pleaded gently, u you 
surely will befriend a poor sick stranger who 
is thrown upon your mercy. In all this world 
I know no other person whom I can trust ; 
but you are called Jane, and Jane was always 
true.” 

Polly for a moment wished her name had 
been Ananias and Sapphira, but brushed the 
thought aside with a thrill of horror at her 
own wickedness. 

“ You have read in this book of the good 
Samaritan ? ” pleaded the stranger. Polly won- 
dered, as she nodded, if the priest and Levite 
felt as she did, and in all her after life had a 
sympathy for them which she could not over- 
come, though she knew it was undeserved. 

But pity triumphed at last, and she timidly 
laid her hands upon the sacred book, and re- 
peated after him the solemn words. Then, 
still standing in the small circle of light 
thrown by the flickering candle, while strains 


26 Polly's Secret 

of music floated in from the far-off dancing- 
hall in the south wing, she listened to the 
strange story. Polly never heard the strains 
of “ Money Musk ” again without going back 
in memory to that gloomy chamber, and 
hearing again that deep solemn voice. 

He had had a hard life, he said reflectively, 
rather than bitterly. A lonely boyhood with 
only one friend — Jane. He had gained 
wealth, but only one affection — Jane’s. But 
Jane had died when their boy was young, and 
after that he only had the boy. The story 
dwelt long and lovingly upon the boy. Polly 
forgot all fear as the deep voice softened in 
speaking of the son — the cleverest lad, the 
fairest. No such boy had ever been. But he 
had grown restless as he grew older, and the 
father, stifling his own regrets, had sent his 
son to India, where wealth and influence ob- 
tained for him a lucrative position. For sev- 
eral years all had gone well, and frequent 
letters cheered the lonely heart at home. 
Then all at once the letters ceased. After 


Polly's Secret 27 

months of suspense the employers wrote that 
the young man had been sent into the interior 
on business, and never returned. They feared 
that native treachery had worked him harm, 
as no trace of him or his attendants could be 
found. Five years had passed since then, and 
now all save the father believed William Train 
to be dead. The old man’s health was failing 
fast ; he realized himself that the end was 
drawing near. His nephews were waiting 
eagerly for his large property, the title deeds to 
which were in this case. To save it for his 
son he had taken this journey, hoping to reach 
some land he owned far up the Kennebec, and 
conceal the package there. This now was 
impossible. Polly Jane must take care of the 
package for him until his son should come to 
claim it. 

The story was told brokenly, with many 
pauses for rest; but Polly had followed it 
with deepest interest and wide-open eyes. 

“ But how will your son know where to 
find them ? ” she objected, “ and how can I 
know him when he comes ?” 


28 Polly s Secret 

The old man drew from the case a minia- 
ture. 

“ I must leave you this,” he said regret- 
fully. His whole face softened into tenderness 
as he gazed upon it. “ But lest time should 
have wrought changes, there must be another 
test. This” — holding up a worn circle of 
gold — “ was his mother’s wedding ring.” 
With an effort the thin fingers snapped it in 
twain. 

“ And now,” he continued, “ bring me the 
ink and quills from my bag on yonder chair. 
I will write to him and send this half of the 
ring. Keep you the other, and give the 
package only to the person who produces 
this. Now go and conceal the case, and come 
back for the letter. But stay, you shall not 
be unrewarded ; ” and though Polly protested 
earnestly that she wanted no reward, he 
fumbled among the papers for a moment, and, 
selecting one, wrote a few lines across the back. 
“ This,” he said, “ is yours. Guard it well, 
child, for it will one day be a valuable 
property.” 



















V 







































































































































































Polly's Secret 29 

With a last longing look at the miniature, 
he closed the case, and took up the pen, 
while Polly, now thoroughly excited and full 
of enthusiasm, hurried to the attic to conceal 
the package. The great room was unlighted 
save by the moonbeams that stole through 
the east window, but Polly knew well where 
to find her own little chest, and swiftly 
buried the treasure deep beneath quilts and 
blankets. Then for a moment she paused by 
the open window to let the evening air cool 
her heated face. The familiar scene looked 
strange and dreary in the moonlight. Polly 
began to be dimly conscious that there were 
troubles in the world which her loved hills 
and trees could not dispel. Was she the 
same girl who had dreamed at that window 
this morning ? And was it only twelve hours 
ago she had cried at the loss of a ball ? 

She was fast slipping away into a reverie 
deeper than the morning day dream, when 
the sound of the hall clock striking suddenly 
recalled supper and Deborah. Closing the 


30 Polly's Secret 

window, she ran hastily down to the northwest 
chamber for the letter. But the sick man 
lay pale and exhausted among his pillows, 
the quill fallen from his nerveless hand. 

“My strength is gone,” he said faintly. 
“You must write for me, child. I will 
dictate.” But Polly in an agony of haste 
declared she had already been gone too long, 
and Deborah would be seeking her. She 
would write to-morrow if he wished. To- 
night she dared stay no longer. 

The stranger sighed. “We may not know 
what to-morrow will bring forth,” he said. 
“ Take the ring, Polly Jane, and send it to him 
secretly. You can write and explain. Give 
my boy his father’s blessing, and never forget 
your promise.” He closed his eyes wearily, 
and Polly hurried downstairs, repeating over 
and over the address he had given, and stop- 
ping by the back hall window to pour the 
untouched gruel into the grass beneath. The 
great Bible she had left in the upper hall, not 
daring to go back to the parlor ; and Deborah, 


Polly's Secret 31 

finding it there next morning, expressed her 
opinion in strong terms of guests who would 
take liberties with even the family Bible. 
“ Some of those children probably had it to 
tell fortunes with,” she decided, and the fact 
that the front doorkey was also missing 
gave probability to her decision. 

Polly entered the kitchen to find the guests 
seated at supper, and meet Deborah’s wrath- 
ful looks. Fortunately, there was no time for 
words. Unite was rushing back and forth, 
waiting upon the guests, who all clamored to 
be served at once, in spite of Deborah’s 
declaration that “ they ’d got all night to 
eat it.” “ If human beings realized how 
much they were like hogs,” she moralized, as 
she filled the pitchers with steaming coffee, 
u they ’d be disgusted with themselves.” 

Polly, as she tried to second Unite’s efforts, 
felt like one walking in a dream. She carried 
potatoes to the people who had asked for pie, 
and broke two plates from the best china tea- 
set ; finally crowning her series of misfortunes 


3 2 


Polly's Secret 

by spilling a bowl of gravy over a green silk 
dress, worn by Mrs. Colonel Tucker of Boston ; 
whereupon Mrs. Tucker called her a good-for- 
nothing, heedless girl, and wished she were 
back in the city, where they always had 
trained waiters for such occasions. Mrs. 
Tucker had no idea she was addressing the 
daughter of “ mine host,” but in her wrath 
might not have cared if she had known. And 
the Greeleys, whose guest Mrs. Tucker was, 
expressed deep sympathy for her and looked 
scornfully at Polly, as if a girl who would 
destroy a Boston-made dress was beneath 
their notice. Mrs. Steward from the other 
table inquired feelingly if that was the only 
dress Mrs. Tucker brought with her, and 
suggested that it might wash, those cheap 
silks sometimes did ; while several people, 
who thought the Greeleys over-proud of their 
guest, tittered audibly. Poor Polly, unmind- 
ful of them all, retired to the back stairs to 
weep out her dismay. But her father found 
her here, and declared Mrs. Tucker was not 


Polly's Secret 33 

a lady, for all her fine feathers, and Polly was 
not to mind anything about it. 

“ But, father, I spoiled her dress,” sobbed 
Polly, “and I can’t pay her for it. Don’t 
you suppose if I gave her my brocade and the 
pieces she could let the tucks down and wear 
it ? She ’s such a thin little woman, and you 
know I’m tall of my age.” 

Father laughed, and told her to keep the 
brocade. He would see that Mrs. Tucker’s 
dress was paid for. Then he coaxed Polly 
back to the now empty supper room, where 
Unite, after searching for Polly everywhere 
in vain, found them ; and they all had 
supper together, even Deborah melting into a 
more congenial mood now, as she said the 
worst was over. 

Deborah allowed no one save herself to 
find fault with Polly, and was deeply indignant 
with Mrs. Colonel Tucker, insisting that the 
dress was a made-over one, for she saw the 
marks of old stitches up and down the back 
with her own eyes. Sam Grimes, who was 
3 


34 Po lly's Secret 

clerk, bell-boy, hostler, and porter in one, 
declared that the Tuckers were all a poor lot, 
and he could remember when the Colonel’s 
wife went barefoot. Polly’s mother said 
soothingly that the poor child was all tired 
out ; and between them all Polly began to 
be consoled. Only to her regret, the lack of 
appetite for which she had sighed at noon 
was quite manifest now, and the dainties 
piled upon her plate seemed to choke her 
when she tried to swallow. 

It was early morning before the family 
could seek their beds, but Unite stayed man- 
fully by the kitchen force until the ball 
broke up, and acknowledged to Polly at part- 
ing that he ’d had a heap more fun than he 
could have had in the ballroom. Still, in 
spite of it all, Polly went to bed with the 
weary reflection that it had been a miserable 
day, and she was glad to-morrow was so 


near. 


CHAPTER III 


T O-MORROW, alas, brought its 
own cares, for the strange guest 
awoke in a high fever, talking 
wildly of Jane and the baby, and giving 
incoherent replies to every question. The 
busy mother’s hands were full in caring for 
him, and Deborah must manage the other 
work, with Polly’s help. There was little 
leisure for any one. The whole house was 
in that state of general disorder that follows 
a party, and Deborah, unused to the care, 
was no easy taskmistress, either to herself or 
Polly. 

It was late in the afternoon before Polly 
found a leisure moment for the letter she 
had promised to write. Deborah was busy 
with a caller, who had run in to glean par- 
ticulars about the strange guest. Mrs. Brooks 


36 Polly' s Secret 

was in the sickroom, and Mr. Brooks away 
from home. Borrowing ink and quills from 
her fathers desk, Polly carried them to the 
attic, where she was secure from interruption, 
and sat down on the floor, with her chest 
for a desk, to indite the all-important letter. 
She was an excellent writer, and her studies 
at school for the past term had included the 
“ Elements of Polite Letter Writing,” under 
a competent master. So there was no diffi- 
culty in commencing. She surveyed the first 
three lines with pardonable pride : 

“MR. WILLIAM TRAIN. 

“ Honored Sir, — At the request of Mr. Ezekiel 
Train, I now take my pen in hand to inform you — ” 

There was a long pause. Nothing could be 
more elegant than the formula which con- 
tinued “ to inform you that I am well, and 
hope that these few lines will find you enjoy- 
ing the same great blessing.” But Polly’s 
practical common-sense suggested that the 
state of her health was a matter of no 


Polly'" s Secret 37 

interest to William Train. She could not 
conscientiously inform him that his father 
was well, and with a consideration beyond 
her years forebore to mention his illness. 
“ My mother says there ’s no use to worry 
people without need,” soliloquized Polly, 
“ and long before this letter gets to India 
he T1 be well again.” 

Just what to say, then, she knew not. 
She was loath to descend to a bald state- 
ment of facts after this elegant beginning. 
Polly turned the leaves of the u Polite Letter 
Writer” over and over. There were letters of 
friendship, letters of business, farewell letters ; 
letters of condolence and congratulation ; let- 
ters from a father to his son ; from an absent 
daughter to her parents ; letters of advice ; 
but nowhere between the two covers could 
she find a letter from a maiden to a young 
man, informing him that his inheritance was 
in her hands, and begging him to come and 
get it. 

She nibbled at her quill until she split it, 


38 Polly's Secret 

and was obliged to go downstairs for a fresh 
one. Returning, she seated herself resolutely 
and continued the letter, for the shades of 
night were fast gathering, and her leisure 
time would soon be over. 

“ I take my pen in hand to inform you that Mr. 
Ezekiel Train is now sojourning at my father’s 
tavern in Bloomfield on the Kennebec River, in 
the State of Maine. At the request of Mr. Ezekiel 
Train, I, the undersigned, your most obedient 
servant, have yielded a reluctant consent to take 
charge of his valuable papers, as Mr. Ezekiel 
Train has grave fears that the papers may come 
into the hands of his nephews. Said nephews do 
not believe his son to be living, and wish to be 
his heirs. Mr. Ezekiel Train has broken your 
mother’s wedding ring in two fragments, and has 
intrusted one of them to my care. The other he 
bids me inclose in this letter, that you may bring 
it and let it be the token by which you may claim 
the papers. He furthermore bids me convey to 
you a father’s love and blessing. I venture to 
express a hope that you will not delay in coming. 

“ Your most obedient and respectful servant, 


“Polly Jane Brooks.” 


Polly's Secret 39 

There were long, long pauses between the 
sentences and much turning the leaves of the 
“ Polite Letter Writer ” before Polly at last laid 
down the goose quill and wiped the ink from 
her aching fingers with a sigh of satisfaction 
at the masterpiece she had produced. But 
even when the letter was carefully sealed and 
addressed to “ William Train, Care of Ball & 
Rice, Tea Merchants, Calcutta, India,” all was 
not accomplished. Another sheet was folded 
about the letter, secured with another seal, 
and addressed to “ The Postmaster, Boston, 
Mass.” Shrewd Polly well knew the gossip- 
ing propensities of country postmasters and 
mail carriers, and after long deliberation had 
chanced upon the idea of thus sending her 
letter, reckless of additional postage. She 
had no idea what it might cost to send a 
letter to India, but cheerfully enclosed her 
entire wealth of four shillings. 

The task was just completed when Deborah 
called her to set the table for supper, and it 
was evening before Polly found a chance to 


40 Polly s Secret 

slip out and deposit the missive in the village 
mail box. 

It seemed to her that the next two weeks 
were a continuous routine of setting tables 
and clearing them away, with weary intervals 
of dish-washing between. The stranger’s ill- 
ness grew more serious each day, and Mrs. 
Brooks, who felt in a lesser degree the same 
responsibility for her guest that she did for 
her family, rarely left the sickroom. Kind 
Dr. Bowen, with his grave face and dignified 
presence, came and went, suggesting more 
gravely at every visit that it would be well 
to notify the patient’s family, and listen- 
ing each time to the explanation that they 
had not been able to learn who he was or 
whence he came. 

Poor Polly Jane ! The weight of responsi- 
bility on her slender shoulders grew heavier 
with every passing day. Sometimes when 
she could be spared from work a few minutes 
she would steal up to the door of the north- 
west chamber, and listen to the fevered voice, 


Polly's Secret 41 

dreading lest in his delirium he should tell 
the story of that evening. But the weary 
brain never seemed to get beyond his early 
manhood, and the days when he had Jane 
and the boy. Once Polly heard him cry out 
to Jane that he had lost the baby, and beg 
her come and help him find him. Then Polly 
Jane crept away to the attic window, where 
she always seemed nearer heaven, and prayed 
that God would take care of them all and 
bring everything out just right. 

There was so much to do that no one 
noticed her. The mother occasionally called 
her a good girl to help so much, and Deborah 
once or twice ventured to express a hope that 
Polly Jane was really steadying down. 

The fever continued to grow higher, and 
the doctor came more and more frequently, 
though intimating at every visit now that 
the case was a most critical one. And when 
on the tenth day of his illness the stranger 
died, Polly felt sure the burden of secrecy 
would crush her. When they wondered over 


42 Polly's Secret 

and over who he was and whence he came, 
she had to bite her tongue to keep from cry- 
ing out his name. But no one noticed her, 
and after much speculation and consultation, 
the stranger was laid to rest in the new ceme- 
tery on the hill, and word sent to all the down- 
river towns from which he might have come. 
After it was all over some one noticed 
that Polly had grown thin and pale, and 
said she had worked too hard. But so had 
they all. 

The tavern settled again into its daily rou- 
tine. One or two boarders, who had sought 
other refuge lest the fever prove infectious, 
returned. Sarah and Jane, released at last 
by their mother’s recovery, were back at their 
posts, and Polly was free to resume her studies 
at the academy on the hill. For several 
weeks she felt disturbed and nervous, unable 
to think of anything save the strange events 
of the past two weeks, and starting at sight 
of every stranger who entered the tavern 
yard. But time and new interests wore away 


43 


Polly's Secret 

the feeling, and ere long, but for the presence 
of the leather case in her chest, she could 
have easily believed the whole thing a dream. 
She never dared look at the papers, even to 
examine the one given to her ; only once she 
drew out the miniature and gazed long and 
earnestly at the fair boyish face, that she 
might know him when he came. And often, 
on cold winter nights, when the wind wailed 
among the huge chimneys and piled the snow 
in great drifts outside, Polly loved to snuggle 
among the warm blankets and wonder what 
William Train was doing in that far-off sunny 
land, and whether he had yet received her 
letter. Sometimes her dreams would be 
haunted by visions of bright-hued birds 
among feathery palms, and swarthy faces 
surmounted by white turbans. Turning over 
her father s limited collection of books one 
day, she came across one which had hitherto 
held no interest for her — “ Inhabitants of 
the Asiatic Continent.” Now she seized it 
eagerly and carried it off to the attic, where, 


44 Polly's Secret 

regardless of cold, she liked best to read. 
There, wrapped in a shawl, with her back 
squarely against one of the great warm chim- 
neys and a pocketful of seed cookies, on 
which she nibbled at the least interesting 
places, Polly left the land of cold and snow 
far behind her, and roamed in fancy among 
the beauties of tropical scenery. The book, 
to be sure, was rather dull, and contained 
much in the way of statistics which are of 
little value in constructing romance ; but 
Polly’s vivid imagination readily supplied all 
defects. She finally located the lost heir of 
the Train family in the wonderful valley of 
Cashmere, and wove about him romances as 
remarkable as the windings of the beautiful 
river whereon he dwelt. Now he was a 
wealthy nabob with lands and servants, pos- 
sessed of every desirable thing on earth save 
liberty ; again he was a slave in the hands of 
native princes ; but always in the end making 
his escape through perils which Polly could 
only dimly conjecture, and reaching home to 


Polly's Secret 45 

find his papers safe. She pictured to herself 
sometimes the surprise of all Bloomfield when 
a distinguished-looking stranger, accompanied 
perhaps by a train of turbanned followers, 
should arrive at the tavern, inquiring for her. 
By the time she had reached this point — if 
indeed she progressed as far — there usually 
came a call for Polly Jane, and the spell was 
rudely ended. And by evening to-morrow’s 
lessons had driven every thought of India 
from her head ; unless, indeed, it lingered to 
confuse her, as on one occasion when she con- 
vulsed the whole school with merriment and 
lost her forenoon recess by asserting that the 
Mississippi River flowed through the valley of 
Cashmere. 


CHAPTER IV 


P OLLY came slowly home from school 
one afternoon, her arm linked in that 
of her closest friend, Esther Das- 
comb, and the two heads close together, as 
they conversed in the most confidential tones 
about some plan for the approaching vacation. 

“ It ’s a great secret/’ Esther said in a half 
whisper, a and no one is to know it until 
vacation really begins. But I ’ll tell you, 
Polly, if you’ll never, never tell. Promise 
me truly.” 

Esther had already confided her secret to 
several schoolmates under the same solemn 
bond, but Polly hesitated so long that she 
began to be indignant, feeling her offer of 
confidence thrust back upon her. “I don’t 
believe you want to know,” she said in a 
tone of displeasure. 


t 


Polly' s Secret 47 

Polly protested eagerly. “I do, Esther, 
and indeed I won’t tell. Only secrets are such 
tiresome things I don’t like to have them on 
my mind.” 

Esther looked reproachful. “ I don’t under- 
stand you at all lately, Polly,” she said. 

Polly’s sigh was not unmingled with satis- 
faction. “ We all change as we grow older,” 
she said sagely. “ And I suppose it ’s because 
I am growing up I seem different.” 

Esther looked doubtful. She was six 
months older than Polly. “Very well,” she 
said stiffly. “I suppose you are too old to 
care about my party, then.” 

Polly’s dignity collapsed at the last word, 
and she uttered an involuntary exclamation 
of delight. Scruples forgotten, she prom- 
ised eternal secrecy, and listened as eagerly 
as Esther could desire to the plans unfolded, 
freely offering such suggestions of improve- 
ments in the arrangements as occurred 
to her, the suggestions being received by 
Esther with the utmost good nature, and 


48 Polly's Secret 

as a matter of course. Practical Polly was 
rather a leader among her friends, and much 
given to superintending their affairs. 

“ Of course you won’t have any one over 
from Milburn,” Polly said decidedly; and 
Esther, who had secretly contemplated invit- 
ing several of Milburn’s young people, agreed 
doubtfully that she supposed not. “ I cer- 
tainly should n’t,” declared Polly vehemently, 
and Esther mentally crossed the names from 
her list. She took a far less active part in 
the rivalry existing between the two towns 
than did impetuous Polly, who was fond of 
reminding her Milburn schoolmates that 
Bloomfield was settled first, and to her 
mind Bloomfield’s churches and academy 
more than overbalanced Milburn’s half-dozen 
stores. 

The two parted at the tavern, and Polly 
ran around to the kitchen door, intent on 
coaxing Sarah into good nature, and securing 
a lunch before the supper hour. Her face 
fell a little as she found Sarah bustling about 


Polly's Secret 49 

with an air that betokened extra business on 
hand. Sarah’s good nature was not always 
proof against the trial of additional labor, 
and members of the family were wont to 
approach her cautiously on such occasions. 
But to-day she turned excitedly as Polly 
entered. 

“ What do you s’pose has happened now ? ” 
she asked. 

Polly with sinking heart hazarded a guess 
that Sarah had been summoned home again, 
her fear lest it be true lending conviction to 
her tone. Sarah laughed, and shook her 
head mysteriously. 

“ Somebody ’s come ? ” guessed Polly again. 
“ Oh, Sarah, it is n’t Aunt Penelope ? ” Sarah’s 
important manner leading her to extravagant 
hopes, for Aunt Penelope lived in New York. 
But Sarah, vigorously stirring the apple-sauce 
which was to be served hot for supper, again 
assured her she was wrong. Polly went 
through the list of relatives on both sides, 
growing more puzzled each moment. 


50 Polly's Secret 

“ Tell me, Sarah,” she said at last. “ I ’ll 
give it up.” 

“ I thought you ’d have to,” replied Sarah. 
“ It ’s that man’s relation.” 

Polly felt herself growing cold. “ What 
man ? ” she asked faintly. 

“ Why, the man that died here, to be sure. 
I should s’pose after all that fuss you would n’t 
need to ask. His folks have hunted all this 
time and only just found out about him ; and 
the way they heard was so roundabout that 
it ’s most a miracle. It seems Mis’ Colonel 
Tucker when she went home stopped over 
night in Falmouth with a cousin of the 
Colonel’s who lives there ; though I ’ve 
heard say the Colonel’s folks did n’t take 
much notice of Mis’ Tucker, and I ’m sure I 
don’t wonder. Of all the stuck-up, proud 
feelin’ women — but that’s always the way 
with them that warn’t brought up to have 
much. Put a beggar on horseback. — Where 
was I ? Oh, yes. Well, someway they got to 
talkin’ about mysterious happenin’s, and Mis’ 


Polly's Secret 51 

Tucker ups and tells of this case, and how he 
come here and died and all. She was in a 
position to give full particulars, for bein’ here 
she had the privilege of attendin’ the funeral. 
But there in the city where strange happenin’ s 
are always goin’ on, nobody thought much 
about it. And it was weeks afterwards that 
the Colonel’s cousin met a man one night at 
a party, and heard him speak of his poor 
crazy uncle who had wandered off. And 
then all to once she remembered Mis’ Tuck- 
er’s story, and puttin’ two and two together 
there was their four.” 

Polly interrupted feebly : “ Did you say he 
was crazy, Sarah ? ” 

“ To be sure he was, and had been for years. 
But land, child, don’t look so scared. He ’s 
dead and gone before we knew it, though I 
can’t say ’s I ’m overfond of lunatics myself. 
Well, where was I? Oh, to be sure. Well, 
he had two nephews who be heirs to his 
property, and their names is Train. It ’s to be 
presumed that his was the same, though as to 


52 Polly's Secret 

that I ain’t heard yet. And off they started 
for here, and got here jest as the dinner 
dishes was washed. And nothin’ to do but 
an extra dinner must be got, and take it all 
round, my hands has hardly been out o’ the 
dishwater to-day. And now here ’s Deb’ rah 
jest walked out in her red merino and gold 
bosom-pin to say the best preserves are to be 
got out, and ham and eggs fried for supper.” 
Sarah finished in an aggrieved tone, punctuat- 
ing her remarks with a flourish of the great 
iron spoon. 

Polly, who herself had suffered from De- 
borah’s recklessness of extra work, hastened 
to offer condolence and assistance. Sarah, 
mollified by the former, graciously declined 
the latter, assuring Polly that she should 
pull through it someway, only Polly might 
stir the apple-sauce while she fetched a ham 
from the storeroom. 

“ You see,” Sarah explained, as she care- 
fully sliced the ham, “ your ma is utterly 
flustrated. I did n’t quite get the rights of it, 


Polly's Secret 53 

but it seems there ’s something the old man 
had with him that can t be found among his 
things, and your pa and ma are upstairs now 
helpin' em hunt." 

Polly leaned heavily against the table. 
“ What was it ? ” she asked hoarsely. 

“ I could n’t make out/’ returned Sarah, 
“ though Jane said they said something about 
papers and notes. There, if that ain’t ham 
enough, let ’em go hungry. They think he 
must have hid something up there, and such 
another fuss of huntin’ and searchin’ I never 
saw.’’ 

Polly felt herself unable to bear more, and 
slipped from the room, trembling with appre- 
hension. Too well she guessed the object of 
the search. 

Deborah was lighting candles in the best 
room, and bade Polly go put her books away 
and brush her hair. “ For who do you think 
has come ? ’’ she asked. 

Polly, fearful lest she be obliged to listen 
to a repetition of the story, replied that 


Sarah had told her, and for once went 
meekly to do Deborah’s bidding, stealing 
softly up and down the back stairs, that 
she might not encounter the visitors. But 
the search was a long one, and the wintry 
dusk had fallen before it ended. Polly was 
passing through the dim front hall when the 
party at last came down the stairs, two 
gentlemanly strangers in faultless dress, pre- 
ceded by her father and followed by her 
mother. 

“ I am truly distressed,” Mr. Brooks was 
saying, “ that this should happen in my 
house. I can only believe that he disposed 
of the papers before reaching here;” and the 
visitors reluctantly agreed that it must be so. 

“ My poor uncle was not responsible for his 
deeds,” she heard the younger man say with 
a sigh ; “ the death of his son a few years 
ago had turned his brain.” 

Polly wondered in dismay if this were true. 
The sick man had seemed so strange and wild. 
What if she were doing a great wrong ? Yet 


Polly's Secret 55 

how could she break her solemn promise ? 
From the shadow of the stairs she observed 
the two men closely. The elder of the two 
held open the parlor door for her mother, with 
a graceful bow. For a moment the flashing 
firelight from within shone on his pale high- 
bred face and dark piercing eyes — not un- 
like those other eyes that she remembered. 
A handsome gentlemanly face it was ; yet 
impulsive Polly Jane in that instant con- 
ceived for it a dislike deeper than she had 
ever known for any one before, why she could 
not have told. Polly was not given to rea- 
soning upon her likes and dislikes. Indeed, 
she rarely contented herself with mild liking 
or disliking, but loved people and hated them 
with equal fervor. And from this moment 
Enoch Train was classed among her foes. 
She dared not join the circle in the parlor, lest 
she be questioned. The hall was dark and 
cold, so she slipped into the office, where Sam 
Grimes, standing before the open fire, was 
discoursing to a gathering of the villagers on 


56 


Polly' s Secret 

the all-absorbing topic of the stranger and his 
lost papers. The story, liberally sprinkled with 
Sam’s conjectures, lost nothing in the telling, 
and Sam himself played an important part in 
it, which Polly did not remember to have no- 
ticed at the time. Particularly did Sam dilate 
on the stranger’s first appearance at the tav- 
ern, and the “ Ses he to me’s ” and 66 Ses I, 
sirs,” which ensued. Polly, wearied of it all, 
suddenly remembered that her mother did n’t 
allow her in the men’s room, as the office was 
called, and wandered back to the kitchen. 
Here it was no better, for Deborah, having 
tied a pretty white apron over her red merino, 
had come out to superintend the supper, and 
with less embellishment but no less relish 
than Sam was going over every particular of 
the stranger’s illness for Sarah’s benefit. The 
Gale sisters both felt themselves deprived of 
their just due, and would never cease to la- 
ment their absence at a time of such interest. 
Jane, who had already heard Sam’s version, 
listened somewhat critically, and interposed 


Polly's Secret 57 

with frequent corrections, oblivious to Debo- 
rah’s rising wrath. 

“ Jane Gale ! ” demanded that young lady 
at last, “ am I telling this story or is Sam 
Grimes ? ” Whereupon Jane with a toss‘ of 
her head subsided, and Deborah was left in 
undisputed possession of the floor. 

“ Jane,” said Polly, hoping to create a diver- 
sion, “ Sam tells you most everything, don’t 
he?” 

“Well,” Jane replied cautiously, “I s’pose 
’t ain’t possible for anybody to be round where 
Sam is a great while and not get the heft of 
what he knows. He’s a great confider, is 
Sam.” 

“ Of course,” Polly went on, anxious to 
continue any subject which had no bearing 
on the Trains. “ It ’s natural he should tell 
you things if you ’re going to marry him.” 

Jane looked critically at the loaf of bread 
she was slicing. 

“ I ain’t noways certain that ’ll ever take 
place,” she answered evasively. “To tell 


58 Polly’s Secret 

you the truth, Polly ” — Jane dropped her tone 
to one of utmost confidence, looking around to 
be sure no one could hear — “I can’t make up 
my mind, though Sam ’s ready and waitin’. 
It ’s jest like this ; sometimes when I see Sam 
all fixed up, tendin’ the men’s room and all 
of ’em round listenin’ to him, I think he ’s a 
man any woman might be proud of, and 
then I think I will. But then again when he 
comes in from the barn with his old clothes 
on, smellin’ of oxen, I can’t feel ’s if ’t was 
the same Sam, and so I think I won’t. I 
know ” — for Polly’s speaking face betrayed 
her disapproval — “that that sounds foolish 
and stuck up. But I tell you, Polly,” Jane 
commenced to wax eloquent in her own de- 
fence, “ matrimony ’s a solemn thing, and 
what ’s more, it ’s for life. How ’m I going 
to tell which side of Sam ’ll develop the most 
by and by ? It may be the men’s room side, 
and then again it may be the barn side. I 
tell you it ’s a risky business, this joinin’ your 
lot to another person’s for better or worse ; 


Polly's Secret 59 

and in my case and Sam’s it ’s riskier ’n 
common on account of our names beginnin’ 
with the same letter.” 

“ Change the name and not the letter, 
change for worse and not for better,” quoted 
Polly in a sing-song tone. 

“ That ’s it,” declared Jane. “ And I ’ve 
seen it come true in more cases than one.” 

“ You have n’t a spark of romance about 
you, Jane,” said Polly, with a sigh. 

Jane, having piled the bread neatly upon a 
plate, scraped the crumbs into the hollow of 
her hand and conveyed them to her mouth. 

“ Maybe not,” she said contentedly. “ I 
don’t seem to see no halo round Sam, if that ’s 
what you mean. Neither does he look rose 
colored to me, without it ’s his hair, and that ’s 
more of a dahlia shade. But if I conclude to 
join forces with him, I rather guess we ’ll get 
along about ’s well for all that. Halos don’t 
stand the wear and tear of married life, I ’ve 
noticed ; and mighty few of them rose-colored 
visions is warranted not to bleach.” 


6o 


Polly's Secret 

Polly looked doubtful, but further confi- 
dences were here cut short by Sam entering 
barn side out, with a milk pail in each hand. 

Polly contemplated absenting herself from 
the supper table, but a somewhat peremptory 
command from Deborah altered her plans, 
and she slipped into her place silently, making 
herself as small as possible. The Trains, as 
guests of honor, sat with the family at the 
upper end of the long table. Polly was 
relieved to find that while they were very 
polite to her mother and Deborah, they took 
no notice of her. Both men, not caring to 
discuss their affairs in public, exerted them- 
selves to keep the conversation in general 
channels ; and the boarders, listening intently 
to each word spoken, went out a little dis- 
appointed, to report the visitors as “ terribly 
close-mouthed.” 

The Trains remained two days at the 
tavern, during which time every corner to 
which their uncle could have had access was 
carefully searched. No one questioned Polly. 


Polly's Secret 61 

Her visit to the sickroom was quite for- 
gotten, and the little country girl was 
apparently considered of no consequence. 
However Polly might have resented this 
under ordinary circumstances, she was very 
grateful for it now, and on her part avoided 
the visitors as much as possible. If they 
could but have seen the struggle going on 
beneath the brown curls ! The two days 
were the longest she had ever known, and 
it seemed to Polly that a lifetime of suspense 
was crowded into them. She dared not visit 
the attic lest attention be attracted to it, and 
lived in hourly fear of discovery, opening 
the door each time she returned from school 
with a conviction that in her absence the 
package had been found. Even at school 
it was impossible to avoid the subject of the 
Trains. The boys and girls discussed the 
matter constantly, and greeted Polly each 
morning with inquiries for further develop- 
ments. 

It was a happy hour when she stood be- 


62 Polly's Secret 

hind the copper-plate curtains of the parlor 
window, and watched the lumbering old 
stagecoach that held the two brothers turn 
the corner of the river road. 

“ I feel real sorry to see them go,” Mrs. 
Brooks was saying to Deborah. “ I don’t 
know whenever there ’s been anybody here 
that I took to so. If only they could have 
found the papers. Your father ’s terribly cut 
up about it. He says it is a serious thing to 
them, for though they can hold the property 
and use it, they can’t sell anything. And 
besides, they feel certain there were notes and 
bonds in it that were worth a good deal.” 

“ I mean to have another search when 
spring cleaning comes on,” said Deborah 
decidedly. 

Polly wondered for the hundredth time 
what they would say if they knew, and took 
the earliest opportunity to remove the package 
from her chest and conceal it under the attic 
floor where she alone knew of a loose board, 
feeling like an outlaw and a criminal as she 


6.3 


Polly's Secret 

did so. She knew she could never be quite 
comfortable again while she guarded those 
papers. But she could only wait, and if 
William Train should not come, God would 
surely send her wisdom by and by when she 
grew older to do what was right. 

With the Train’s departure, excitement 
died away, and people began to talk of other 
matters. Singing school absorbed the atten- 
tion of the academy scholars, and ere long 
the midwinter vacation put an end to study, 
and opened a round of parties and other mild 
dissipation. 

Esther’s party, which came off in due 
season without a Milburnite to mar its har- 
mony, proved the event of the season. The 
Dascombs lived in a great square house on 
the river road, and all that wealth could 
procure went to make them the envy of their 
neighbors. To Polly, who sometimes wearied 
of the tavern and sighed for a home which 
need not be shared with every village loafer, 


64 Polly's Secret 

Esther’s home was ideal. The rich papering, 
the solid mahogany furniture, the heavy 
carving, all went to make up a vision for 
future years. It mattered not that the Das- 
combs lived in the back of the house and 
never opened their parlors save on grand 
occasions. All the more did Polly yearn for 
a parlor which might be “ shut up and kept.” 
Even this occasion hardly warranted the use 
of the “ best room,” but the Dascombs’ sitting 
room was quite as good as other Bloomfield 
parlors. 

Polly, as Esther’s most intimate friend and 
prime minister, took an important part in 
the festivities. She had with some difficulty 
coaxed her mother into letting down two 
tucks of her green merino, so that it came 
nearly to her feet, and for the first time in her 
life appeared in public with her hair “ done up.” 
Deborah, who thought it quite time Polly 
should begin to grow up, willingly arranged it 
for her, though the mother looked doubtful and 
the father openly expressed his disapproval. 


Polly's Secret 65 

Polly felt herself very much improved, and 
carried herself with so much dignity that 
Unite, who was early at the party, made sar- 
castic remarks about peacocks and wondered 
audibly how long Mr. Brooks had had one. 
In her short dress, with the two long braids of 
hair, Polly would have turned on him with 
indignant recrimination. But conscious of a 
new dignity, she greeted his remarks with a 
scornful silence, and became so deeply inter- 
ested in something going on across the room 
that Unite subsided, somewhat chagrined. 
His hour of reckoning^ came, however, when 
the games began, for Polly, who was a great 
belle and often in the ring, ignored him utterly 
and bestowed all her favors elsewhere. 

When the delights of “ The Needle's Eye ” 
and “ London Bridge ” began to pall upon 
the assembled company, Esther whispered 
mysteriously to Polly and two others of her 
friends, who immediately disappeared with 
her in the direction of the kitchen. The rest 
of the company settled themselves about the 
5 


66 Polly's Secret 

room, and in place of the merry shouts that 
accompanied the games, an oppressive silence 
fell upon them, broken only by an occasional 
whisper or a faint giggle. 

Presently the four girls reappeared, bring- 
ing to each guest a plate, on which reposed 
four different varieties of cake, a tart, a 
handful of raisins, and an orange. This was 
somewhat elaborate, as Bloomfield in those 
days had not yet become Epicurean, and was 
usually contented with two kinds of cake and 
an apple. But the Dascombs were well to 
do, and society expected rather more of 
them. 

When the last crumb had disappeared — for 
it was not considered polite to leave anything 
on the plate — and most of the guests had even 
pocketed the orange peel for future nibbling, 
the games were resumed, with even more zeal 
than before. Polly began to find the long 
dress an impediment, for when she bowed to 
the wittiest she stepped upon the hem, and 
in kneeling to the prettiest her feet became 


Polly's Secret 67 

entangled so that she could not rise without 
assistance. Then they played forfeits, and in 
the midst of it all Squire Dascomb came out 
to wind the hall clock, which was a polite 
hint that it was time to go home. 

Polly contemptuously declined Unite’s com- 
pany, and went off with some of the girls, 
leaving Unite to meditate on the variable 
character of the feminine nature. He had 
not intended to make her angry. The Polly 
he was used to would have retaliated promptly 
and forgotten all about it. 

Polly stood long before her little mirror 
before she went to bed that night, first 
carefully shading the candle that its rays 
might not disturb her sleeping sister. The 
curly knot, piled high above the straight 
brows and questioning brown eyes, gave a 
strange dignity to the serious little face look- 
ing critically out at her from the mirror. 
Polly began to realize that childhood lay 
behind her and she was entering upon young 
ladyhood. Already she seemed to have made 


68 Polly' s Secret 

long steps into that mysterious territory 
where restraint ends and responsibility begins. 
Yet the old questions were unanswered and 
the vague unrest unsatisfied. When should 
she begin to grow wiser ? Surely the time 
could not be far distant when the judgment 
that comes with years might be hers, and at last 
she should know what to do about those papers ? 
Alas, she woke next morning to braid her 
hair and don her short everyday dress ; to 
find she was still only a girl, and womanhood 
lay a long way ahead. The open door into a 
fascinating realm seemed suddenly closed in 
her face. She was tired after the party, and 
little inclined for the long seams which Deb- 
orah placed before her. The stent dragged 
heavily, until her mother reproved her for 
idleness and Deborah scolded because the 
work was poorly done. 


CHAPTER V 


B loomfield academy has ever 

been considered one of the finest 
educational institutions of the 
State. Its brick walls have sheltered embryo 
statesmen, lawyers, doctors, authors ; its list 
of alumni bears names of which not only the 
town but the State is justly proud. The fluted 
columns which for long years supported the 
entrance were a fitting emblem of its vigor- 
ous sons and daughters who have gone forth 
to uphold the right wherever their strength 
might be needed, to stand for truth and honor 
the wide world over. In Polly’s day the 
academy was still in its vigorous youth. Its 
master was a scholarly man, to whom teach- 
ing was not a stepping-stone to a profession, 
but a life work. To many of its pupils each 
day of study represented past days of toil 


70 Polly's Secret 

and almost privation ; not a few of them 
walked miles each night and morning. 
Others, who came from distant parts of the 
State, worked for their board in various fam- 
ilies of the neighborhood. The printed rules 
which hung upon the schoolroom wall re- 
lated not merely to the student’s conduct in 
school, but also to moral development in all 
the walks of life. Particularly were pupils 
forbidden to trespass on the neighboring 
gardens and orchards, and enjoined to treat 
the passing stranger or citizen with uniform 
courtesy. 

Polly, having had the advantage of village 
schools all her life, was well up in her classes, 
and often pointed out to visitors as one of 
the brightest scholars. Indeed, though Polly 
never suspected it, she was one of Master 
Tompkins’ favorite pupils; but not unlike 
many other people of rugged character, Master 
Tompkins was wont to cover partiality by an 
unusual severity of manner, and brought 
harsher judgment to bear upon his favorites 


7i 


Polly's Secret 

than others of the school. With the opening 
of the spring term of school Polly’s interest in 
study seemed to flag ; indeed, she had many 
other things upon her mind. The dread lest 
she might be doing a great wrong was slowly 
fastening itself upon her. She dreamed no 
more of William Train, for she was becoming 
convinced that he was really dead, the story 
from his father’s fevered lips seemed so 
wild and broken when compared with Enoch 
Train’s logical version. She thought a good 
many long thoughts about it in the night, 
and more than once determined to tell her 
father the whole story ; but always when she 
had come thus far, that unaccountable dislike 
to Enoch Train arose stronger than ever. In 
vain she told herself she had no right to let a 
personal antipathy obstruct her sense of jus- 
tice. When it came to the point of deciding, 
she dared not betray the dead man who had 
trusted her into the hands of one whom she 
distrusted. All this wore upon her. She 
grew absent-minded and distrait, until the 


72 Polly's Secret 

master several times reproved her for inat- 
tention in school. 

“ You village young people/’ he said, includ- 
ing the rest of the villagers in his censure of 
Polly, “ spend far too many of your evenings 
in frivolous amusements. Where were you 
last night ? At singing school. And the night 
before ? At the Locke party. I thought so. 
If this goes on I shall tell your father to take 
you from school and set you to washing the 
tavern dishes.” 

Polly drooped her head and blushed pain- 
fully, while a titter ran around the room, and 
several of the girls who knew her hatred of 
dish-washing cast significant glances in her 
direction. 

The master looked over his glasses with a 
gaze that stopped the laughter. “ Oh, you ’re 
all alike,” he said severely. “You, Betsey 
Briggs, would find it to your advantage to 
spend more time on your lessons, and less on 
your dress.” Another titter at Betsey’s ex- 
pense. “And the rest of you,” continued 


73 


Polly's Secret 

Master Tompkins, “ would hear nothing to 
laugh at were you all busy as you should be 
with your own affairs. The whole school 
will remain in from forenoon recess and 
commit to memory a chapter on good man- 
ners in public. Meanwhile, I would advise 
you all to meditate on your ill-breeding, which 
is a disgrace to this institution.” 

Polly felt doubly disgraced that her fault 
should have led the entire school into trouble, 
and was keenly conscious of reproachful looks 
about her. Betsey Briggs, who, being an in- 
habitant of Milburn, had had experience with 
Polly’s sharp tongue, was especially indignant, 
and whispered to Maria Cayford that Polly 
did it on purpose to spite her. Betsey wore 
long dresses and did her hair in the latest 
style, and Maria, who admired and longed to 
imitate her, agreed that Polly was a disagree- 
able girl. Maria was a thin girl, with sandy 
hair and freckles, and lived on the island 
between the two towns. 

Altogether, it was a trying day for teacher 


74 Polly's Secret 

and pupils. The scholars grew restless in the 
long session, and Master Tompkins became 
more and more sarcastic as the day pro- 
gressed, assuring more than one pupil that 
time spent in teaching them was worse than 
wasted, and stigmatizing Nimrod Weston as a 
“ proper blockhead ” when he failed to spell 
“ metaphysics ” correctly. It was a day of dis- 
appointment to Polly, aside from the reproof 
she had incurred ; for feeling that she must 
soon have advice from some mind greater 
than her own, she had thought longingly of 
Master Tompkins’ intellectual attainments and 
seriously contemplated consulting him. But 
after to-day’s experiences she felt she could 
never ask a favor of him. Hurrying home 
as soon as school was dismissed for the night, 
she sought her attic retreat, where undisturbed 
she might give the matter due consideration. 
Plainly, Master Tompkins was out of the 
question. Polly cast over the few other great 
minds of her acquaintance. There was the 
village doctor, but he was far too fond of 


Polly's Secret 75 

gossip ; her father, but he might become 
suspicious, and insist on hearing the whole 
story. Only one other remained — the min- 
ister, and Polly Jane’s heart failed her at the 
thought of approaching him. She believed 
people called on the minister for advice only 
in direst extremity, and her case assumed a 
far more serious aspect at the thought of 
taking it to him. 

But the Brooks family came of brave old 
Puritan stock, who, having made up their 
minds to a duty, stopped not for fire or flood 
in performing it. So on Saturday afternoon, 
having obtained permission from her mother 
to go up on the hill, Polly started forth to 
seek counsel from the minister. Deborah 
scolded when she came down with her best 
bonnet on, and Mrs. Brooks said reprovingly 
that the old one would have answered ; but 
Polly knew she needed all the support which 
best clothes can give. 

The parsonage was a long, low house beyond 
the church, shaded in summer by a tangle of 


76 Polly's Secret 

trees and shrubbery. Now the skeleton arms 
of the trees stretched bare and brown against 
the keen blue of the winter sky. Polly 
walked more and more slowly as she neared 
the house, and paused with her hand on the 
knocker to hope the minister was not at 
home. The sixteen-year-old daughter of the 
house opened the door. 

“ Why, Polly ! ” she exclaimed delightedly. 
“ How glad I am to see you ! ” 

But Polly had to explain that she had not 
come to visit. 

“Is your father at home, Rebecca ?” she 
asked stiffly, and Rebecca in wonder ushered 
her to the study. 

“ Mother,” she said, going back to the 
family sitting room, “do you suppose Polly 
Brooks is under conviction ? I don’t see what 
else she could want of father.” 

Mrs. Pratt was a woman of noble character, 
whose faith in her husband was second only 
to her reverence for his profession. 

“It is not our place, Rebecca,” she said 


Polly's Secret 77 

chidingly, “ to suppose anything about it. 
Your father’s office should cause all dealings 
with him to be held sacred from conjecture 
by his family. If Polly is in need of counsel, 
we know she has come to a wise counsellor, 
and no more need be said.” 

Meanwhile Polly sat in the study, very stiff 
and erect on the carved oaken chair that had 
come with the minister’s father from Con- 
necticut. The minister, who had been delayed 
by pastoral work, was deep in the morrow’s 
sermon, and had only raised his head to 
motion her to a seat. For ten minutes she 
sat nervously, listening to the steady scratch 
of the belated goose quill, as it hurried over 
the paper. Presently she summoned courage 
to look about her. In her visits to Rebecca, 
Polly had never been in this room. She mar- 
velled at the rows upon rows of books, and 
wondered if the minister knew all that was 
in them. Surely, among such vast stores of 
knowledge there must be some bit of wisdom 
that would help her. 


78 Polly's Secret 

The pastor, deep in his train of thought, for- 
got all about the caller, and when at last the 
busy pen stopped, he rested his head upon his 
hand and seemed lost in meditation. Polly 
in awe would have slipped from the room 
but for fear of disturbing him. The great 
presumption of which she had been guilty in 
planning to thrust her own little needs upon 
the notice of such a man suddenly dawned 
upon her. If only she had not come ! An 
involuntary sigh from her lips broke the 
oppressive silence. The pastor started — 
Polly never guessed how reluctantly — from 
his meditation, and turned towards her with 
a reassuring smile. 

“ Well, my child ? ” he said inquiringly. 

The smile, the kindly interest which his 
voice betrayed, set Polly's doubts at rest. 

“ I hope I do not disturb you, sir," she said 
deprecatingly, “ but will you tell me, is it ever 
right to break a solemn promise ? ” 

It was not at all what Polly had intended 
to say, but in her excitement she could think 


Polly's Secret 79 

only of the one point on which her perplexity 
hinged. 

Parson Pratt’s truth-loving soul abhorred 
nothing more than a seeming compromise 
with evil. 

“ No, my dear,” he replied promptly, “ it is 
never right to break a promise.” 

Polly drew a long breath. 

“ Not if it seems to be wronging some one 
to keep it ? ” she asked anxiously. 

“ We may not judge of seeming wrongs, 
Polly,” replied the minister. “What seems 
a wrong to us may in God’s providence be 
a great right. And even though it be a 
wrong, we may not hope to right it by the 
sin of an untruth, which a broken promise 
always is. Granted that some one suffer 
because of the promise, do you not see that, 
far worse than that, the whole righteous 
cause of truth will suffer if the promise be 
broken? We must remember that the final 
accomplishment of right and wrong is not 
narrowed down to our finite ways and means. 


8o 


Polly's Secret 

If our promise stand in the way of a fellow 
creature’s good, an ever-wise Providence can 
open some other channel to that good. Be- 
ware, my child, how you mar the harmony 
of your soul by coming to regard truth lightly. 
In all this universe, from its great Source 
who is the one central truth down to the 
veriest insect whose life obediently follows 
His laws, there is nothing so beautiful, so 
harmonious, as truth. If every heart on 
earth were absolutely true — to itself, its 
fellowmen, and its Creator — then would the 
reign of peace on earth be accomplished. And 
all the sin and sorrow which burden this world 
to-day may be traced to untruth. I know 
not what promise you may have in mind, my 
daughter ; whatever its nature, remember our 
Father never requires us to break our word. 
It may be a promise rashly given ; if so, and 
it presses heavily, it may be meant for a 
lesson. Impulsive youth is all too ready to 
involve itself in difficulty by giving its word 
too hastily. A promise is too sacred to be 


Polly' s Secret 81 

broken ; it is also too sacred to be lightly 
given.’* 

Polly sighed again. 

“ Oh, how I wish I could tell you all about 
it ! ” she said impulsively. “ But the not 
telling is the promise itself, and I did n’t 
know what to do, but now I see that I need 
not break my word ; and when it all comes 
right so that every one can know, I will tell 
you just how it happened.” 

The minister laid his hand gently on the 
curly head, for Polly, finding her bonnet 
burdensome, had removed it. 

“ Remember there is always One whom you 
need not wait to tell,” he said. “ One who 
knows it all now. It is a wonderful thought, 
Polly, that the all-powerful Creator has a 
heart large enough to hold even the humblest 
of his children’s perplexities. Yet our Father 
guides us, during our early years at least, 
largely through the counsels of our earthly 
parents. It is always safe to accept no secret 
which they may not share.” 

6 


82 Polly's Secret 

“ I never shall again/’ said Polly firmly. 

Mindful of the neglected sermon, she com- 
menced putting on her bonnet, but the pastor 
kept her while he questioned of the school, 
what books she had read, and what she liked 
best to do out of school. And Polly, who was 
shy only when self-conscious, forgot what an 
august personage she was conversing with, 
and chatted freely of her love for books, 
and her deep aversion for long seams and 
errands. 

When she finally left the study, Rebecca 
was waiting to waylay her in the hall, and 
coaxed her upstairs to see a new embroidery 
pattern she was working. Rebecca, mindful 
of her mother’s caution, refrained from be- 
traying her curiosity, and avoided the subject 
until Polly remarked with some importance : 

“ I have been asking your father’s advice, 
Rebecca, about something that bothered me. 
I would tell you what it is if I could, for I 
hate secrets.” 

Then Rebecca magnanimously assured her 


Polly's Secret 83 

that she didn’t care to know. Her father 
had to keep a great many secrets which his 
family did n’t know. Whereupon Polly, not 
to be outdone in magnanimity, confided to 
Rebecca several secrets which were her own 
private property to be kept or given away 
as she chose. 

“ I really think,” Polly said reflectively, 
sitting on the edge of Rebecca’s bed, and 
absently tracing with her finger the pattern 
of the sunrise quilt, “ that we are at the age 
when we are seeing our hardest time, Rebecca. 
We ’re too old for lots of things we used to 
like to do, and too young for lots of others. 
When I want to go sliding I ’m too old, but 
if I want to go on a moonlight ride to Nor- 
ridgewock I ’m too young.” 

“You don’t know anything about it,” re- 
plied Rebecca. “ Wait until you ’ve been a 
minister’s daughter, and made to serve as a 
pattern for every other girl in the parish. 
Sometimes I wish my father was a blacksmith 
or anything else that would n’t cause me any 


84 Polly's Secret 

responsibility. Think of the things I can’t 
do which would be all right for any other 
girl ! And I ’m certain there are ever so 
many of the girls who can’t like me just 
because they ’ve been told all their lives to 
try and act like Rebecca Pratt.” 

Polly, with an inward qualm of conscience, 
remembered that she had herself held aloof 
from Rebecca on this very ground. Deborah, 
who had deep respect for family and position, 
had not failed to hold up the minister’s 
daughter, with her quiet manners and polite 
behavior, in sharp contrast with Polly’s 
impulsiveness. 

“ I would n’t mind that, Rebecca,” she said 
generously. “ You can’t help being superior, 
I suppose. But so long as you don’t do it on 
purpose the girls should n’t blame you. And 
the next time Deborah tells me how beauti- 
fully you sew, I shall remind her that you 
have a great deal to live up to.” 

“And I don’t like to sew at all,” added 
Rebecca. “ I would far rather be reading a 


Polly's Secret 85 

book. But my stitches have been on exhibi- 
tion to the whole parish ever since I made my 
first square of patchwork ; so I have to be 
careful of them. Why, only this winter Aunt 
Maria sent me a beautiful dress ; it was red 
with little brown figures in it. And what do 
you think, Polly Brooks ? That dress had to 
be dyed brown before I could wear it, because 
some people might think it too gay for a 
minister’s daughter. I tell you, you don’t 
know anything about it.” 

Polly looked serious. 

“ I had no idea being a minister’s daughter 
was like that,” she acknowledged. “I’m 
afraid I thought it was rather nice to be 
looked up to and pointed out as a model. 
I ’in glad you told me, Rebecca, for I shall 
always like you better now I understand. 
And I think your dress is very pretty, even 
if it is brown. I never realized before how 
much you had to bear. Why, even Deborah, 
old as she is, has a red dress.” 

“ If I ever marry and go away from Bloom- 


86 Polly's Secret 

field to live/’ said Rebecca, “ I mean to have 
a red dress among my wedding clothes.” 

“ A red silk,” suggested Polly, “ with ever 
so many ruffles.” 

“ And a bonnet to match,” declared Re- 
becca, made bolder by sympathy. 

Polly went home reflecting that Rebecca 
was a much nicer girl than she had thought, 
and resolved to cultivate her friendship. 

“ It is n’t best to judge people until you 
know all about them,” she wisely decided. 

It was a light-hearted Polly who sat in 
church next morning, and listened with a 
new interest to the sermon. The care of the 
leather case pressed upon her still, but she 
no longer had to wonder what was right. 
And by and by, when it all came out, if any 
one blamed her she had only to refer them to 
Parson Pratt 5 he would uphold her in keep- 
ing her promise. She went back to her 
studies on Monday with a new zest, which 
delighted the master, and convinced him that 
his scolding was not without effect. Nor did 


Polly's Secret 87 

she forget her resolution in regard to Re- 
becca, and the two became warm friends. 
Rebecca found herself, through Polly, ad- 
mitted to many things hitherto closed to her, 
and became more popular among the other 
girls when Polly explained that she was n’t 
superior on purpose. The weeks went swiftly. 
There were new studies to take up, and 
new interests absorbed Polly’s mind. A 
society, “ Daughters of Temperance,” was 
formed in Bloomfield; and regardless of the 
fact that her father kept a tavern, popular 
Polly was elected its president. Like many 
similar societies, this flourished for but a brief 
season. While it lasted its mission seemed 
chiefly to mystify the envious Milburnites, 
who, living in another town, were not eligible 
to membership. Its meetings were held at 
the tavern on half holidays, and the feature 
of the day was an essay on temperance by 
some member. But after five or six meetings 
the essays began to have a familiar sound, 
and members called on to write declared the 


88 Polly's Secret 

subject had been exhausted. There began to 
be a lack of interest. The hour for women’s 
clubs was not yet ripe, so after due consider- 
ation it was voted to lay down the goose 
quill and become a sewing society. With 
fingers occupied, tongues became loosened and 
ideas flowed readily, and before the winter 
ended the society did some very good work 
in clothing families of the town, made desti- 
tute by drink. 


CHAPTER VI 


S PRING, lingering long on her way 
northward, crept at last over the hills 
and up the valley of the Kennebec. 
The brook behind the tavern burst its bonds 
and hurried away to swell the river. Up in 
the pine woods over the hill eager little fingers 
sought out the pink and white mayflower. 
The willows that fringed the river put on a 
tender shade of green. Farmers got out their 
ploughs and went about their planting, unde- 
terred by the annual croaker’s prediction of a 
“ late frost.” Bloomfield housewives greeted 
spring’s approach in the good old fashion, 
by turning their houses upside down for a 
thorough renovation, and the tavern took its 
share with the rest. True to her word, 
Deborah searched every hole and corner with 
the hope of bringing to light the missing 
papers. 


go 


Polly's Secret 

“ I wish to mercy she ’d find ’em,” groaned 
the long-suffering Jane to Polly. “ Seems ’s if 
she thought they might be in the corners of 
the mop-boards or the cracks of the floor. 
Deb’ rah ’s a master hand to drive work, and I 
ain’t sayin’ but what I like it well enough ; 
but them drivin’ dispositions is wearin’ to live 
with.” 

To do Deborah justice, the best of feeling 
existed between her and the Gale sisters ; 
any difference in position would never have 
occurred to either of the three. Their dresses 
and bonnets were all constructed by the same 
pattern, and Deborah and Sarah, who were 
the same size, borrowed and lent wearing 
apparel with the utmost unconcern. Jane’s 
complaint was merely an expression of the 
discomfort which an overactive, tireless per- 
son may cause in any household. 

“It seems,” Jane went on, “like shakin’ a 
child to make ’em tell something. I ’ve seen 
people go at a child’s if they could shake 
the truth right out of ’em ; and that ’s the 


Polly's Secret 91 

way Deb’ rah ’s goin’ at the tavern. Seems ’s if 
she thought she could shake them papers to 
light.’" 

But all Deborah’s activity was destined to 
be unrewarded. Jane found her one morning 
standing at the foot of the attic stairs looking 
doubtfully upward. 

“ I ’ve made up my mind, Jane,” she said 
decidedly, “ that if those papers are in this 
house they ’re in that attic.” 

“ But we ’ve cleaned the attic,” objected 
Jane. “ There ain’t a quilt or blanket up 
there but what ’s been hung out and aired, 
not to mention pickin’ over all the herbs and 
everything.” 

Deborah was unconvinced. 

“ There ’s any amount of places,” she per- 
sisted. “ There may be loose boards, and 
then there ’s places under the eaves ; and 
what was to hinder him slippin’ up there that 
first night while he was left alone ? ” 

Jane, who had no idea of spending another 
week overturning the attic if it could be 


92 Polly's Secret 

avoided, declared that by all accounts the 
sick man had been too weak to walk when 
lifted from the stage, and called in Sam to 
corroborate her statement. Sam immediately 
affirmed that he himself had carried the 
stranger to the northwest chamber, and see- 
ing Jane’s wishes, furthermore declared that 
the sick man had fallen when he tried to 
stand, and to all appearances his limbs were 
palsied ; calling, in his turn, on Mr. Brooks 
when Deborah remained unconvinced. 

Landlord Brooks was by this time heartily 
tired of spring house-cleaning, and, moreover, 
had long since become satisfied that the pa- 
pers were not in his house. 

“ He could n’t have got into the hall with- 
out help,” he declared. “ Don’t, for mercy 
sake, Debby, tear anything more to pieces.” 
So Deborah unwillingly relinquished the idea, 
and Polly never knew how near she might 
have come to discovery. 

Sam, who believed his testimony in the 
case had not been without value, claimed 


Polly's Secret 93 

Jane’s gratitude therefor, waxing indignant 
when it was not forthcoming. 

“ Did n’t I make out a good strong story ? ” 
demanded Sam. 

“ You made it altogether too strong,” 
retorted Jane. “ Your stories would be a 
sight more powerful, Sam, if you could be 
made to see that the truth ’ll bear its own 
weight without any of your proppin’. The 
minute you struck off onto that palsy story 
Deb’rah knew you was romancin’, and it 
shook her belief in the little truth you had 
told.” 

“ Oh, mebbe you think I ’m a liar, then,” 
said Sam, bitterly indignant. “ And p’raps 
that ’s the reason you hang off so long about 
marryin’ me ? ” 

“ No,” returned Jane candidly ; “ I wouldn’t 
go so fur ’s to call you a liar, Sam. I think 
you ’re merely an exaggerater. And it ’s solely 
on account of my thinkin’ of marryin’ you 
that I ’ve been studyin’ your character and 
come to that conclusion. I ain’t one of them 


94 Polly's Secret 

kind of women that takes a man’s word for 
law and gospel jest because she ’s joined to 
him for better or worse. As I say, I ’ve been 
studyin’ you, and I ’ve got so I can tell by 
the tone of your voice when you leave the 
solid ground of truth and venture out into 
the swamp of prevarication. If I ever should 
make up my mind to marry you, that knowl- 
edge ’ll come handy, and save me a heap of 
siftin’ and sortin’ on what you say.” 

But here Sam, roused to fury, declared he 
did n’t want a wife who could n’t believe him, 
and did n’t propose to wait much longer any- 
way. “ Drusilla Taylor ’d take me any day,” 
he remarked, as a concluding argument. 

“Well,” replied Jane placidly, “you go up 
and keep company with Drusy while I think 
it over a spell longer. If I decide to take 
you there won’t be a mite of harm to Drusy, 
for no doubt a couple of weeks of steady 
CQmp’ny ’ll open her eyes so she won’t want 
you ; though if it should n’t and I decide to 
the contrary, you could n’t do better than to 


95 


Polly's Secret 

take Drusy. She ’s different dispositioned 
from me, and might develop into one of 
them women that swears by every word 
‘ he ’ speaks. I ’ve seen that kind. They 
bring out ‘he says so/ as a clinchin’ argu- 
ment, and get mad with everybody that won’t 
be fooled by it. Drusy ’s a pretty girl, too, 
though she ain’t much of a cook.” 

“Cookin’ don’t matter,” returned Sam 
loftily. 

“ Not when a man ’s courtin’. But there, 
don’t let me keep you. Sarah ’s waitin’ for 
a turn of water. You go ahead and I’ll be 
thinkin’.” 

“ You ’d better think quick, then,” was 
Sam’s ultimatum, as he took up the pails, 
“for my mind’s pretty near changin’.” 

But Jane was not to be deprived of the 
last word — her prerogative by virtue of 
her sex. 

“ You ’re forgettin’ that you belong to that 
class of the human family that never changes 
their minds,” she said sweetly. 


96 Polly' s Secret 

Sarah, who had been an unwilling listener 
to part of the conversation, turned reproach- 
fully to her sister as Sam disappeared. 

“ You go too fur in provokin’ Sam, Jane,” 
she said. “ You ’ll lose him yet.” 

“He ain’t mine to lose,” returned Jane 
cheerfully. “You might offer me your new 
paisley shawl and I might hesitate about 
acceptin’ of it. Not because it warn’t a 
good enough shawl, but wonderin’ whether 
it would be becomin’ to my style. But while 
I was hesitatin’ ’t would n’t be my shawl, and if 
Deb’ rah or .Mis’ Brooks come along and wanted 
it, you ’d be welcome to give it to ’em. I ’m 
a great believer in lettin’ Providence settle 
our doubts for us.” 

The tavern kitchen was by no means an 
unpleasant place at any time ; and particularly 
in the evening, when the work for the day 
was over and everything in order, it was a 
favorite resort for all members of the family. 
Polly and Jane had been out since school was 


Polly's Secret 97 

over digging dandelion greens, and with 
Deborah’s help were cleaning them for to- 
morrow’s dinner. Sarah, who declared she 
would n’t clean greens to-night, if the board- 
ers starved, was placidly knitting. All four 
looked up in surprise when Sam entered, 
arrayed in Sunday best, with boots as Jane 
declared “ blacked clear to the straps.” 
Sam was in a most independent mood, and 
in answer to Polly’s questioning boldly 
announced that he was “goin’ courtin’ up 
to Taylor’s.” Jane was the only member 
of the group to remain unmoved. She 
obligingly straightened Sam’s new cravat 
and brushed some dust from the back of 
his coat, bidding him give her best regards 
to Drusy, and not forget to inquire after 
Grandsir Taylor’s rheumatics. 

“ What did I tell you ? ” cried Sarah, as the 
door closed behind him. 

Jane resumed her work at the greens. 

“ If I recollect,” she answered, “ you told 
me the cow ’d eat the grindstone, and I b’lieve 
7 


9 8 Polly's Secret 

I told you that so long ’s ’t warn’t my cow nor 
my grindstone, she was welcome to it. But 
so far ’s I can see, she ain’t bit into it yet. 
She ’s only pokin’ her nose round it to try 
and make folks call her oft.” 

Polly looked from one to the other with 
deep interest. 

“ But Jane,” she said, “ what did Sam 
mean ? ” 

“ Far be it from me, Polly,” replied Jane 
with oracular vagueness, “ to presume to 
follow the workin’s of any male mind.” 

“ But was he really going up to see Drusy 
in real earnest ? ” 

“ I ’in sure I hope so,” put in Deborah, 
whose opinion of Sam was not the highest. 
“ You know, Jane, I ’ve always said he was n’t 
good enough for you.” 

“I ain’t noways certain one way or the 
other,” replied Jane. “ But I thought seein’ 
how he appeared with another woman might 
help me to make up my mind. I may take 
him yet. We can’t all have our equals.” 


Polly's Secret 99 

“ But what if he marries Drusy ? ” inquired 
Polly with deep concern. 

“ For mercy sake, child,” exclaimed Deb- 
orah, “ what do you care if he does ? ” 

“ There ain’t any law against old maids,” 
added Jane dryly. 


L.of C. 


CHAPTER VII 


S PRING cleaning was a thing of the 
past, and even Deborah had reluc- 
tantly given up all search for the 
Train papers, when late one June afternoon 
a large gray horse stopped before the tavern, 
and Enoch Train leaped lightly to the 
ground. Polly saw him first, and a thrill 
of dismay disturbed the peace that time was 
bringing to her heart. Mr. and Mrs. Brooks 
pressed forward to greet the guest, while 
Deborah hurried away for a glance in the 
mirror before presenting herself. Polly, un- 
certain what was best to do, stood alone in 
the background, bowing awkwardly when 
the guest, who seemed to have forgotten her, 
was introduced by her father to his “ little 
Polly.” To a young lady of almost sixteen, 
who for two months had done her hair up, 


IOI 


Polly's Secret 

this form of introduction was hardly calcu- 
lated to promote ease. The stranger looked 
inquiringly at her, as if unable to reconcile 
his memory to present conditions. 

“ Have you three daughters, Mr. Brooks ? ” 
he inquired, in the well-bred even tones Polly 
had not forgotten. “ I had the impression 
your youngest was a little girl.” 

Landlord Brooks’ laugh rang through the 
front hall and echoed up the stairway. 

“ So she is — so she is,” he replied heartily. 
“ She ’s only masquerading a bit lately, in an 
attempt to be a young lady. How old are 
you, Pollykins ? Most sixteen ? Bless me, 
child, are you sure ? ’T was only yesterday 
you were ten. Well, well, she’s but a baby 
yet, after all, Squire. When Debby was six- 
teen we called her a woman. But little Polly,” 
playfully pinching the plump cheek already 
crimson with embarrassment, “ won’t grow 
up for a good while yet.” 

An amused expression played around Mr. 
Train’s thin lips, and his keen eyes seemed 


102 Polly's Secret 

to read Polly through and through, for a 
moment only. Enoch Train was too perfect a 
gentleman to add to the girl’s evident dis- 
comfort. 

“When your daughter does grow up, I 
fancy you’ll be the last person to know it, 
Mr. Brooks,” he said lightly, and turned the 
conversation into another channel. 

Polly, feeling hot and uncomfortable, made 
her escape to her usual place of refuge — the 
kitchen. The room was empty, and with a 
vague desire for companionship she wandered 
on to the open room, where Sam, having 
stabled the guest’s horse, was cleaning saddle 
and bridle, his face reflecting the dejection 
which Polly felt. Things had not gone 
smoothly with Sam of late. Though bask- 
ing in the sunlight of Drusilla’s smiles, and 
speeded in his new wooing by every means 
Jane could devise, he yet was conscious of 
dissatisfaction at the manner in which fate 
was tossing him about. 

“What’s brought his Royal Highness 


Polly's Secret 103 

our way again ? ” inquired Sam, as Polly ap- 
proached. Polly settled herself on a half 
barrel near him. 

“ He says he can’t give up without one 
more look,” she replied. 

“ I wonder he ’s willin’ for anybody to 
know it,” said Sam, rubbing spitefully on 
the saddle to vent the ire aroused by Mr. 
Train’s treatment of his personal investiga- 
tions. Sam, to whom the affairs of every 
man, woman, and child in Bloomfield were 
a part of his privileges as a citizen, and his 
perquisites as assistant at the village tavern, 
had approached the guest with that mixture 
of cordiality and curiosity which charac- 
terized the type of Yankee tavern keeper. 
But the reply of “ business matters, my good 
man,” in a reserved tone which conveyed 
more than the words, had not failed to con- 
vince him that his interest in the affair was 
not desired. 

“ I ’m glad we don’t often have his kind 
round here,” went on Sam. u That haughty . 


104 Polly's Secret 

overbearin’ sort goes against the grain with 
me.” 

“ He ’s very polite,” argued Polly, whose 
sense of justice sometimes conflicted with 
her will. 

“ Polite enough,” agreed Sam. “ But he 
don’t know the difference between help and 
servants, and that ’s what ails him. Orderin’ 
round a free-born voter as if they was a 
black slave ! I ’ll have him know that my 
vote counts for jest the same as his in the 
general election. Ketch me sayin’ ‘ sir ’ to 
him.” 

“I hope he won’t stay long,” said Polly, 
partly to voice her own wishes, but more to 
soothe Sam’s ruffled feelings. 

“ He won’t by my invitation,” answered 
Sam, hanging the bridle on the wall with 
a jerk. 

Polly followed the family into the parlor 
after supper. Now that Mr. Train’s atten- 
tion had been called to her, she dared not 
avoid him lest he suspect her dislike, and 


Polly's Secret 105 

trace it to its cause. It was the Brooks’ 
custom to regard as a family guest any 
stranger of note whom chance brought to 
the tavern, and Enoch Train was an ideal 
guest. He talked politics and farming with 
Mr. Brooks, praised Mrs. Brooks’ house- 
keeping, and took a deep interest in Debo- 
rah’s embroidery. Deborah had donned her 
new pink chintz, and in contrast to Polly 
seemed quite at ease with Mr. Train, chatting 
gaily with him on any subject that came up. 
By and by he moved nearer to her, and 
began drawing the embroidery silks through 
his long, slender fingers, and Polly heard 
Deborah telling him of her unavailing search 
for the papers. He sighed as he listened. 

“I fear we must give them up,” he said 
regretfully, “though recent events have al- 
most convinced me that they are in this 
house. A fellow passenger who left the stage 
a few miles below here is positive that he 
saw my uncle take out the case, as he left 
him, and put it back quickly when he found 


106 Polly's Secret 

himself observed, and the driver declares he 
did not leave the stage after that until it 
reached this door.” 

“ We ’ll have another look to-morrow,” an- 
swered Deborah. “ There ’s one or two places 
I don’t feel certain of yet.” 

Polly felt uneasy as she went upstairs to 
bed that night, wondering where Deborah 
meant to look. She was not left long in 
doubt. 

“ I ’ve made up my mind,” said Deborah, as 
she brushed her dark glossy hair, “ that that 
attic’s got to be thoroughly overhauled. 
Those papers are nowhere else. If they ’re 
in this house they’re up there.” 

“ The attic ? ” said Polly faintly from her 
pillow. 

“ Yes, the attic. I believe there ’s loose 
boards, up there where he might have hid ’em, 
probably without knowing what he did, poor 
old man ; for of course he was out of his head 
from first to last.” 

For a long time after Deborah was peace- 


Polly's Secret 107 

fully sleeping Polly lay with wide-open eyes, 
staring into the darkness and wondering what 
she ought to do. She well knew that Debo- 
rah would leave no board in the attic floor 
untried, and the package, left where it was, 
must be discovered. Well, let it be. Like 
Jane, she would let Providence decide the 
matter for her. She turned over and tried to 
sleep, but the pictured face of William Train 
rose reproachfully before her. The clear boy- 
ish eyes seemed pleading with her to save his 
inheritance for him. She rose on her elbow 
at last and looked carefully at her sister. 
Deborah’s even breathing betrayed sound 
slumber. Polly crept from bed and opened 
the chamber door. All was dark and pro- 
foundly still. The rushing of the falls on 
the north side of the island seemed to fill the 
house. Dared she go ? In her long night- 
dress with bare feet she stepped into the hall, 
softly closing the door behind her. Hark! 
What was that? There came a strange whir- 
ring sound from below, a clatter of works, 


io8 Polly's Secret 

and then the tall clock on the landing rang 
out twelve solemn strokes. How they re- 
verberated through the house ! She held her 
breath for a moment, expecting the occupants 
of all the rooms to come rushing forth ; but 
the echo died away, and save for the rushing 
river, the house grew still again. Not the 
faintest sound came from any room. 

Summoning courage, Polly stole forward 
and opened the attic door, each separate board 
seeming to creak beneath her light weight as 
she mounted the stairs with stealthy tread. 
She reached the top at last, and felt her way 
over to the corner where the package lay. 
Through her favorite window a faint light 
came, and a friendly star off over the moun- 
tain seemed to twinkle sympathy and courage. 
She had the package at last, and as softly as 
she had come crept back, pausing often to 
listen for a fancied sound, and never drawing 
a full breath until she reached her own room 
again. Deborah’s low breathing was undis- 
turbed. Not knowing what else to do with it. 


109 


Polly's Secret 

Polly slipped the package beneath the feather- 
bed on her side, and crept back to bed. She 
was sure she could not sleep ; but she remem- 
bered nothing more until she suddenly awoke 
from a vivid dream of seeing Enoch Train 
stand before her with the package in his 
hand and a mocking smile upon his lips. The 
sun was shining brightly, and a bird on the 
great elm tree outside was pouring his song 
into the room. Deborah had already gone 
down, and Polly, making a hurried toilet, fol- 
lowed, first placing the leather case carefully 
in her own especial drawer of the bureau. It 
was not safe there, she well knew ; for the 
drawer was never locked, and mother, Debo- 
rah, or even Jane might go to it at any 
time. If only she could take those papers 
and go far away until Enoch Train was gone ! 
She was standing by the window after break- 
fast, watching the country teams as they 
drove up to the store, when a glimpse of a 
familiar broad-brimmed hat and drab coat 
brought a flash of hope. 


no Polly's Secret 

“ Mother,” she said eagerly, “ Friend Tay- 

lor is up from Fairfield to-day. Can’t I go 
home with him and spend Sunday? You 

know Aunt Ruth has been asking me for a 

long time.” 

Mrs. Brooks hesitated. 

“ No, Polly, I can’t spare you to-day,” she 
said at last. “ It *s Saturday, and Deborah 
wants Jane to help search the attic, though 
I think myself it’s a fool’s errand. Next 
Saturday you may go.” 

Polly felt that next Saturday might lie 
beyond the end of the world for her, but 
went quietly about the household duties 
given her, in strange contrast to the old 
Polly. 

By and by, unable to bear the suspense, 
she went upstairs. From the attic came the 
sound of voices and the scraping of boxes 
being moved. Convinced that she must 
remove the package from her bureau, Polly 
took it out with no clear idea of what she 
was going to do with it. She had reached 


1 1 1 


Polly's Secret 

the hall and stood irresolute when the sound 
of voices on the attic stairs startled her. 
They were coming down. Quick as thought 
she opened the door of the hall closet, and 
tossed the leather case upon the highest shelf 
she could reach ; and none too soon. There 
was not even time to close the closet door 
before her sister and Mr. Train were in the 
hall. 

“ All that trouble for nothing,” the gentle- 
man was saying. “ And now, Miss Deborah, 
we may as well give it up.” 

“ I ’m afraid so,” Deborah answered, going 
up to close the closet door. “ We ’ve looked 
everywhere else. This closet was the first 
place I thought of, just outside the door 
of his room, you see. But we Ve looked it 
through and through.” 

“I see.” He approached nevertheless to 
look in. The shelf on which the package 
lay was above Deborah's head, but Polly 
swiftly noted that Mr. Train’s unusual height 
would bring it on a level with his eyes. Her 


1 1 2 Polly's Secret 

involuntary exclamation of terror turned the 
attention of the two, and just at that instant 
a tiny gray object slipped from the closet and 
ran between Mr. Train’s feet up the stairs. 

“Well, Polly Brooks,” said Deborah in a 
disgusted tone, “ how long since you took 
to being afraid of mice ? I never knew you 
to mind one before.” 

“Miss Polly is evidently a victim of the 
unfortunate timidity so popular among fash- 
ionable young ladies,” remarked Mr. Train 
with some sarcasm. “ Close the door, Miss 
Brooks. There may be more of those dreadful 
creatures lurking in the closet.” 

The two went laughing downstairs, leaving 
Polly with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes. 

“ I don’t blame him for despising a girl 
that ’s afraid of a mouse,” she said to her- 
self. “ But oh, how I despise him ! ” 

She waited on the stairs until Jane, who 
had been putting the attic to rights, came 
down. 

“ I hope to mercy that ’s the last of that 


Polly's Secret 113 

nonsense/’ groaned Jane wearily. “ I feel 
to wish that the old man Train had sunk his 
papers in the bottom of the Red Sea before 
he ever come this way with ’em.” 

“ So do I, Jane/’ echoed Polly heartily. 
After Jane had gone, she carried the leather 
case back to its old hiding place in the attic, 
determined that come what would, she would 
never move it again. Then sitting down by 
her familiar window, whose scene had lost 
all power to comfort her, she cried as if her 
heart were broken. Polly was not a tearful 
kind of girl. It is doubtful if she had cried 
since the day of the ball. She did n’t know 
why she was crying now, only she could n’t 
help it. Life seemed such a burden she 
wished she might die. If only there were 
somebody to pity her a little, and tell her 
not to mind. She started suddenly, and 
commenced to dry her tears, as a footstep 
sounded on the stairs. Were they coming 
back ? But it was Unite Bodwell’s face which 
in a moment rose above the stairs. 


8 


1 14 P oily' s Secret 

“Oh, here you are,” he said. “Your 
mother asked me to call you to help get 
dinner. I say, Polly, what on earth are you 
crying about ? ” 

Unite’s tone of surprise was not untinged 
with disgust. 

“ Nothing,” returned Polly with spirit. 
“ I ’m not crying,” hiding her face in her 
apron, and commencing to sob again. 

Unite leaned against the chimney and 
watched her helplessly, thrusting his hands 
deep into his pockets, as if searching for a 
solution of Polly’s unusual conduct. 

“ Oh, come now, Polly,” he ventured pres- 
ently. “Don’t do that.” 

Polly made no reply. Unite walked to the 
other window, and stood looking out, meditat- 
ing in some perplexity on the curious con- 
struction of the feminine character. He had 
believed Polly free from most of the weak- 
nesses of her sex, and began to feel a little 
disappointed in her. All the logic of his 
years brought to bear upon the case afforded 


Polly's Secret 115 

no light. Presently he strolled back, and 
seated himself on a box before her. 

“ Now see here, Polly,” he said with some 
authority, “ if there ’s nothing the matter, 
there ’s nothing to cry for ; and if there is 
anything, you can’t help it by crying, so you 
might ’s well stop. Besides, Jane has asked 
me to drive her up to Norridgewock this 
afternoon with your father’s old gray horse, 
and your mother said you could go too.” 

Polly’s tears began to lessen. Presently 
a watery smile broke over her face, and she 
consented to be comforted, and accompany 
Unite downstairs. 

“ Do I look as if I ’d been crying, Unite ? ” 
she inquired, as they reached the foot of the 
stairs. 

Unite looked at her critically. 

“You look as if you’d been boiling soft 
soap,” he answered. “ You ’d better slip 
round to the back pump and wash your face. 
I’ll tell them you ’re coming.” 

When Polly at last reached the kitchen, 


1 16 Polly's Secret 

she found Mr. Train had gone with her father 
to the cemetery. He wished to visit his poor 
uncle's grave and order a suitable monument 
for it, he said. 

“ Which I must say is handsome of him/' 
said Sarah, “ considerin’ how the old cur- 
mudgeon hid his papers till they can’t be 
found.” 

“ That depends,” said Jane, whose forenoon 
experience had given her reason to share 
Sam’s opinion of the visitor. “ He ’ll be 
pretty likely to buy the monument with his 
‘ poor uncle’s ’ money, I take it.” 

“ He kind of takes to Deborah, don’t he ? ” 
asked Sarah curiously, a little envious of 
Jane’s superior opportunities for observation. 

Jane considered some time before replying. 

“ Why, yes,” she said at last. “ I don’t 
know but what he does. But whether he 
means anything or whether he ’s makin’ a 
cat’s paw of her I can’t say. I ’m suspicious 
of these slick-spoken individuals.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A DRIVE to Norridgewock was a 
pleasure not to be disregarded on 
a June afternoon. The road over 
the hills ran between prosperous farms and 
bits of pine woods, and all the way in sight 
of the smooth river which loiters on its way 
from Norridgewock to Bloomfield, as though 
loath to reach the work awaiting it in the 
rush and hurry of the falls below. 

“ I would n’t thought of going this afternoon 
if I had n’t been hard put to it,” Jane said, as 
she mounted the high wagon with agile step, 
cautioning Polly to avoid the wheel in follow- 
ing her. “ But the fact is I had n’t counted 
on it summerin’ off quite so early. That 
cold rain we had last week put me entirely 
off my guard. And now to-morrow promises 
to be a regular July day, and here’s the 


i iS Polly's Secret 

summer trimmin’s of my bonnet off up home. 
Sarah was forehanded enough to bring hers 
down last time she was up, but I ’m naturally 
inclined to procrastinate. I hate to go off 
Saturday afternoon, for though the work ’s all 
done up there ’s always extra pickin’ up and 
putterin’ to get ready for Sunday. But I 
can’t go into the singers’ seats to-morrow in 
them maroon velvet trimmin’s. That’s the 
only out about bein’ one of the choir. There ’s 
more required of you in the way of clothes 
than if you was jest one of the common 
congregation.” 

“ But it ’s nice to be in the choir,” said 
Polly admiringly. “ And every one says you 
read music beautifully.” 

“ Well, of course,” Jane replied modestly, 
“ I ’ve had first-rate singin’ advantages since 
I was knee high. All our family takes to 
music as a duck takes to water. Uncle Ezry 
was that crazy to teach that when he had n’t a 
school anywhere else, he jest got up one right 
in the family. With fourteen children and 


ii 9 


Polly's Secret 

their elders, you can make quite a singin’ 
school. So as I say, I’ve had good singin’ 
advantages. But there, we ’re none of us 
satisfied with excellin’ in our own way ; and 
I ’ve often thought I ’d be glad to give all I 
learned of Uncle Ezry for a couple of terms 
at school. That ’s the place where our 
advantages as a family failed. Not but what 
there ’s good schools in Norridgewock. For 
real culture it ’s a heap ahead of Bloomfield, 
and bein’ the county seat, all the intellect 
naturally centres there. But we lived too far 
out to get any good of the village schools, 
and every one of us was set to work about as 
soon as we could go alone. When it comes 
to work we ’re a likely family, if I do say it. 
As for learnin’, native wit ’ll go quite a piece 
to cover the lack o’ that.” 

“ Learning don’t matter in a woman,” put 
in Unite from the front seat. “ Parson Pratt 
says so. He ’s going to take Rebecca out of 
the academy soon as this term ’s done, because 
he ’s afraid she ’s getting too much learning.” 


120 Polly's Secret 

“ But Rebecca feels awfully about it,” said 
Polly regretfully. “ She ’s one of the best 
scholars.” 

The steady old horse had been patiently 
tacking from side to side as he climbed 
the long hill. As they reached the top, 
Unite urged him into a jogging gait, between 
a slow trot and a fast walk. The road lay 
hard and smooth through shady woods, and 
the breeze from the river was odorous with 
pine. Polly drew a deep breath of delight. 

“How good it is to be alive,” sighed the 
girl who three hours ago had been too miser- 
able to live any longer. 

“ It ’s a privilege on a day like this,” 
agreed Jane. “ And lookin’ at it rightly, it ’s 
a privilege any time. For when these days 
ain’t here we know they ’re cornin’, and it ’s a 
mighty graspin’ person that ain’t willin’ to 
live through a good many Marches for the 
sake of one June. Don’t hurry that hoss, 
Unite. There ain’t no call to sweat him.” 

“No great danger,” replied Unite con- 


Polly's Secret 121 

temptuously. “ ’T would be me that would 
have to sweat if I got him out of a walk. 
He ’d be willin’ to spend the whole afternoon 
on the road.” 

“ He might do worse,” said Jane. “ If I 
do say it, there ain’t a prettier road in the 
county.” 

“ Who lives in that large white house, 
Jane ? ” inquired Polly, as they left the fra- 
grant stillness of the woods behind them and 
came out into open fields. 

“ That ? Oh, that ’s the Pettingill place. 
Ain’t you ever heard tell of Tom Pettingill ? 
He started in life bound out to Dr. Davison 
over to Milburn, but he ’s got to be pretty 
forehanded. He ’s buried three wives,” con- 
tinued Jane in a tone of mournful satisfaction, 
“ and I have good reason to know he ’s lookin’ 
out for a fourth, though that of course is 
between us three. But that ’s something I 
could n’t bring myself to. It gives anybody 
a creepy feelin’ to think of usin’ the posses- 
sions of three predecessors. There ’s Tom 
/ 


122 Polly's Secret 

himself now/’ as a tall man with slightly 
stooping shoulders came out of the barn. He 
had sandy hair and freckles, and his beard, 
though an unmistakable red about the mouth, 
shaded to a pale yellow in its frayed edges. 
He greeted the party as they passed with a 
mournful smile, which told of relinquished 
hopes. Jane looked back at the house. 

“ It begins to show a man’s housekeeping” 
she said to herself rather than her com- 
panions. “ It ’s a pity to have it run down. 
If folks could only have the placin’ of their 
regards instid of havin’ ’em go hit or miss. 
But there, affections that ’s been warmed over 
three times must get kind of dry. Keep a 
tight rein on that hoss, Unite, there ’s plenty 
of rollin’ stones on this hill.” 

They crossed the long sandy level that 
skirts the hills. Beneath a row of huge pine 
trees Jane suddenly rose in her seat, leaned 
forward over Unite’s shoulder, and gave the 
reins a pull that brought the willing steed to 
a halt. 


Polly's Secret 123 

u Stop here a minute/’ she said in answer 
to Unite’s look of inquiry. 

Above them rose the rocky hillside, 
crowned with trees ; below, fragrant meadows 
stretched to the river. Opening before them 
the village lay fair in the afternoon sun, the 
culture and respectability of the north side 
linked to the newer settlement of the south 
side by a long gray arch, which Jane pointed 
out as the toll bridge. Jane, in her turn, 
drew a deep breath as she looked up into the 
pine trees. “ I always feel ’s if I was to 
church when I get here/’ she said. “ I ’ve 
heard many a sermon that ain’t gone so deep 
as a few minutes under them trees. Drive on, 
Unite.” 

Up the street and around the corner, down 
the hill, they drove, across the bridge and up 
over another steep hill, Jane doing the honors 
of the village as they passed. A mile beyond 
the bridge the horse of his own will turned 
into a grassy dooryard, and stopped before a 
little low red house. 


124 Polly's Secret 

“ Ain’t he knowin’ ? ” exclaimed Jane. 
“ He remembers the place.” 

Polly, who had never seen Jane’s home 
before, looked about her curiously. A flock 
of young turkeys ran in front of the wagon 
with loud clamor; an anxious-looking hen 
clucked her numerous brood together and 
withdrew them from reach of the wagon 
wheels ; a yellow dog barked furiously from 
the doorstone, and a tall anxious-looking 
woman, with thin gray hair twisted behind 
into a knot the size of a walnut and fastened 
with a goose quill, appeared in the door. She 
was immediately followed by a little old man. 

“ Well, well ! ” they exclaimed in unison, 
“ here ’s Jane ! ” 

“ Make ye acquainted with Polly Brooks 
and Squire Bodwell’s son,” remarked Jane 
laconically, as she clambered over the wheel, 
leaving Unite a little in doubt as to the 
identity of the parties thus entered upon his 
list of acquaintances. But Polly had often 
seen Jane’s father at the hotel, and judging 


Polly's Secret 125 

it safe to conclude that the woman was Jane’s 
mother, ventured to inquire for her health, 
and express a hope that she was quite recov- 
ered from her illness of last winter — an 
unfortunate remark ; for while Jane was 
carrying in various packages she had brought, 
and Unite leading the horse round to the 
shady back yard, Polly was kept standing on 
the doorstep to listen to a long account of the 
aforesaid illness and a minute description of 
Mrs. Gale’s present state of health. 

“ Come, come, mother, ain’t you going to 
bring the young lady in ? ” asked her husband 
at last ; and then Polly was ushered to the 
living room, which for a moment seemed full 
of people. There were Jane’s four younger 
sisters, Mirinda and Miranda, Eliza and Su- 
san, all of whom blushed when spoken to and 
looked Polly carefully over when not observed. 

“ Mirindy and Mirandy ’s twins,” explained 
their father, who seemed to take the burden 
of hospitality on himself. 

“ And this,” said Jane, in a tone of pride, 


126 


Polly's Secret 

turning to a white-haired man in an easy- 
chair by the pleasantest window, “ is Uncle 
Ezry. He ’s awful deef,” she added, and 
gave force to her words by screaming in the 
old gentleman’s ear that this was Polly 
Brooks from the tavern. Uncle Ezra shook 
his head, but held out a wrinkled hand to 
Polly, smiling kindly. 

“ I did n’t hear a word,” he said cheerfully. 
“ But it does n’t matter, my dear. You are 
heartily welcome.” He placed a chair for 
her with a remnant of courtly grace. The 
rest of the family looked on approvingly. 
Evidently the finer arts of entertainment 
were left to Uncle Ezra. Polly’s heart went 
out to this simple gentleman of the old school. 
She tried to talk with him, but his deafness 
made conversation impossible. 

“ I don’t hear it,” he said, shaking his head 
and smiling. By and by — for the old man’s 
perfect courtesy made him loath to talk 
about himself — he spoke of his infirmity. 

“ It ’s pretty quiet in where I am,” he said. 


Polly's Secret 127 

“ But not silent — oh, no. Such music as I 
never heard is ringing in my brain all day. 
Music with never a discord in it — never a 
discord. When the Master shut me off in 
quiet, He shut me into the chamber called 
Peace. You don’t need ears to hear music. 
It ’s always present to the soul that listens.” 

Polly wished he would talk longer, but 
Mirindy, who began to get acquainted, inter- 
rupted with questions about Bloomfield, and 
the mother wanted to ask about Sarah. Then 
Jane, having secured the coveted trimmings, 
returned, and proposed a homeward start. 
But Mrs. Gale would not hear of their going 
without refreshment, and dispatched the twins 
for homemade cowslip wine and plum cake, 
which Polly found delicious. While Unite was 
bringing the horse round, and Jane and her 
mother engaged in a mysterious conference, 
Mr. Gale beckoned Polly aside. “I want to 
ask about that Sam Grimes,” he said. “ You 
don’t happen to know whether he ’s pretty 
stiddy or not, do ye ? ” 


128 Polly's Secret 

Polly thought she might safely say that 
much in Sam’s favor, but when further 
questioned whether Sam was laying up 
money she did not know, though she remem- 
bered to have heard her father say Sam was 
prudent with everything but his tongue. 

The old man seemed far from satisfied. 

“Well, I don’t know ’s it matters,” he said 
regretfully. “ I ain’t one that b’lieves parents 
ought to pick for their children. But Tom 
Pettingill ’s got a fine place and the Grimeses 
is unreliable stock. Sometimes they turn out 
well and sometimes they don’t.” 

Polly carefully refrained from repeating 
this conversation to Jane, but during the 
homeward drive asked many questions about 
Uncle Ezra, a subject on which Jane was quite 
willing to talk. 

“ Land, no,” she said. “ Uncle Ezry never 
had no schoolin’ no more than father did. 
He ’s jest one of them kind that appears to 
be made of finer stuff than the folks round 
him. And then tra veilin’ round to teach 


Polly's Secret 129 

singin’ school, he naturally picked up good 
manners. Oh, yes, we all feel ’s if Uncle Ezry 
was a great credit to the family. He makes 
the rest of us average up better. Do, for the 
land sake, hurry that hoss up, Unite. I never 
see a hoss before that would n’t hurry towards 
home. Sarah ’s dependin’ on my help to get 
supper. I d’ know ’s she ’d know what to put 
on the table if there was n’t somebody handy 
to talk it over with, and your ma ’n’ Deb’rah ’s 
apt to be busy with the comp’ny. Sarah ’s a 
good cook, if she is my sister, but she ’s a great 
leaner. But then, we ain’t all made alike, and 
I s’pose ’t was meant that them that ’s got 
backbone should share it with them that ’s 
without.” 


9 


CHAPTER IX 


P OLLY would fain have remained away 
from church next morning. She felt 
she could get no good while sitting 
in the pew with Enoch Train. But the Brooks 
family were regular in their attendance, and 
she could think of no excuse to justify so un- 
usual a proceeding. She came slowly down 
the front stairs, the crisp folds of her new 
muslin making a little rustle as she walked, 
and the pink lining of her white bonnet cast- 
ing a rose-colored shade over her face. Enoch 
Train, standing in the parlor door, looked up 
at her. 

“ Miss Polly ? ” he said in a puzzled tone. 
“ How many of you are there ? ” 

Polly looked confused. “ How many ? ” 
she said. 

“ Yes. There ’s the little girl I saw last 
winter. I thought she was gone, but I 


Polly's Secret 13 1 

found her playing with the kitten yesterday. 
There ’s the student who was so busy with 
her books last evening. The timid girl who 
is afraid of a mouse, but I saw that same 
girl help the kitten out in a fight with a rat. 
And now here comes a young lady whom 
I have not met before. How many more 
are there ? ” 

The color that mounted to Polly’s brow 
made the pink lining look faded by contrast. 
Why could not this man let her alone ? Why 
need he notice what she did ? An uncomfort- 
able reflection crossed her mind that he must 
have watched her closely. Mr. Train mistook 
her embarrassment for shyness. 

“ Never mind,” he said, turning away. 
“ When I get to know you better, I dare say 
I shall find the same Polly under all these 
different guises.” 

When he got to know her better ! That 
certainly implied a longer stay or another 
visit. Polly felt discouraged at the thought. 
She walked slowly up the hill to church with 


£32 Polly's Secret 

her father and Deborah, Mr. Train and her 
mother going before. After a little they 
went in single file, for grasses heavy with 
dew leaned over the pathway on either hand. 
Dandelions brightened the grassy border of 
the road, the elm trees met in an archway 
overhead, the fragrance of lilac and apple- 
blossom floated over the fences from blossom- 
ing garden and orchard. The beauty around 
her calmed the unrest in Polly’s heart. Who 
can be miserable when June holds possession 
of the world ? 

From every direction families in Sunday 
best were coming with sedate footsteps in 
keeping with the day. Down the street 
came stately Deacon Locke and his fair 
Quaker wife, followed by their seven chil- 
dren. From the green front door of the little 
white house next the church the Misses Put- 
nam stepped daintily, each with a sprig of 
caraway folded in her snowy handkerchief 
at an exact right angle. In front of the 
academy the stream of church-goers divided, 


133 


Polly's Secret 

Baptist and Orthodox, each seeking his own 
place ; for the two churches stood opposite, 
and the two church bells hurled a clanging 
defiance at each other across the shady street. 
Polly had never been inside the Baptist 
Church ; for though her father was not an 
active partisan in the controversy between 
the two sects, it was not considered etiquette 
at that day for young people of one church 
to attend the services of the other. 

The family from the tavern formed a 
centre of interest to-day ; for the gentle- 
manly stranger had not been introduced to 
Bloomfield society (that is, taken to church) 
on his previous visit, and necks were strained 
in an effort to take an inventory of his ap- 
pearance before the narrow door swung to, 
and the high back of the pew left only a line 
of heads visible. Polly usually heard little 
of the long sermon. From her seat in the 
corner there was a glimpse through the high 
front window of green branches and cloud 
flecked sky — abundant material for day- 


134 Polly's Secret 

dreams. But to-day Parson Pratt’s earnest 
face and commanding presence brought a feel- 
ing of security. She could not forget that come 
what would, she had him on her side, and 
listened wistfully to his text, in the hope that 
it might bring some message to her. 

“ And Satan stood up against Israel and pro- 
voked David to number Israel.” The firstly 
was a long discourse on David’s command ; 
the secondly, a microscopic examination 
of Joab’s objection ; thirdly, an enumeration 
of the thousand thousand men of Israel ; 
fourthly dealt with the four hundred three- 
score ten thousand men of Judah ; and long 
before fifthly reached Levi and Benjamin 
Mr. Brooks was slumbering peacefully in one 
end of the pew', while Polly in the other end 
was lost in waking dreams. 

“ A fine sermon,” she heard Deacon Locke 
say to her father on the way out. “ I like 
a plenty of facts and figgers to pin my ideas 
to. What do you think of Joab’s motive in 
leaving out Levi and Benjamin ? ” 


Polly's Secret 135 

Mr. Brooks, guiltily conscious of his delin- 
quencies, was hesitating for an answer when 
his guest came gracefully to the rescue with 
some pertinent observations on the subject, 
which drew a beaming smile from Deacon 
Locke. Here was a man of intellect, a man 
after his own heart. Hardly waiting for Mr. 
Brooks’ grateful “ Make you acquainted with 
Mr. Train, Deacon,” he engaged the stranger 
in a theological contest, which lasted through 
noon intermission, and would have lost Mr. 
Train his lunch had not the Deacon insisted on 
his partaking of doughnuts and apple pie from 
the Locke lunch-box. For though the Locke 
family, like many others, lived near enough to 
go home at intermission, they felt it an oppor- 
tunity for social intercourse which should not 
be missed. Polly, who had outgrown Sunday- 
school by several years, spent the intermission 
among her schoolmates, pacing decorously 
up and down the shady road. Of course the 
guest came in for a full share of attention 
here, much to Polly’s discomfort. 


136 Polly's Secret 

“ He ’s very wealthy, is n’t he ? ” inquired 
one. Polly thought he must be. Much as 
she disliked the topic, the instinct of hospi- 
tality demanded that she do the guest full 
justice in the eyes of her friends. Slowly, by 
piecemeal, the facts of his courtesy, affability, 
and culture were drawn from her. 

“ What a nice chance you have to see new 
people,” said Kezia Locke, half enviously. 

Polly thought the privilege a doubtful one. 

“ I just wish my father kept a tavern,” 
Kezia insisted. “ I ’m tired of seeing the 
same people and hearing the same things. I 
thought ’t was elegant the way he held open 
the pew door for your mother and Deborah.” 

“ Does Deborah like him ? ” inquired an- 
other. 

“ I guess so,” Polly replied doubtfully. 

“ Tom said he had a fine horse,” said Maria 
Steward. 

“ And how well he sits on it,” supplements 
her sister Bethiah. “ He rides like Jehu.” 

“ Why Bethiah Steward ! ” exclaimed Polly 


Polly's Secret 137 

in a shocked tone, “ that ’s swearing — like 
Jehu ! ” 

“ It ain’t,” replied Bethiah with more force 
than elegance. “ It ’s in the Bible. Is n’t it, 
Kezia ? ” 

Kezia, who as the daughter of Deacon 
Locke stood next to the minister’s daughter 
in importance, thought it was. “ He was 
the man who rode so fast,” she explained. 

“ I always thought that was Joab,” Polly 
said doubtfully. There was a burst of 
laughter. “ Or Jeroboam,” said one. “ Or 
Jehoshaphat,” said another. A shadow fell 
upon the group as Master Tompkins, whose 
ideas of school discipline by no means confined 
him to school hours, approached. 

“ Young women,” he said commandingly, 
“ are you sure the subject under discussion is 
suited to the day and place ? Your mirth is 
unseemly.” 

“ We were talking of Bible characters,” 
said Bethiah mischievously. 

The master looked at her searchingly. 


138 Polly's Secret 

“If that is the case, a more reverential 
manner would be in keeping,” he said 
severely. “Remember, ‘ a loud laugh shows 
a vacant mind.’ ” 

The bell ringing for afternoon meeting 
broke up the group, and Polly hastened to 
join the other members of the family in the 
tavern pew, as it was called. 

“ Fine young fellow, that Train,” Deacon 
Locke assured Mr. Brooks after the second 
service, and Mr. Brooks repeated the remark 
to his guest on the way home, in a tone that 
assured Enoch he had needed but this endorse- 
ment to give him the highest possible credit 
in his host’s estimation. 

“ You helped me out well there on Joab,” 
Mr. Brooks said confidentially. “ Fact is the 
Deacon ’s a good deal of a scholar, and he 
can’t see why we fellers that ain’t so intel- 
lectual can’t follow the parson as close as he 
does.” 

Before evening Polly learned, to her relief, 
that Mr. Train would leave Bloomfield on 


139 


Polly's Secret 

Monday morning. Mr. Brooks, who grew to 
like the young man more and more, held 
forth every possible inducement for a longer 
stay. “ Something about the papers may turn 
up,” he urged. But Enoch shook his head. 

“ I have given them up,” he said regret- 
fully. “ The trip has been a disappointment 
to me in that way, though the kind hospi- 
tality you have shown me has made my 
sojourn here one of pleasure. I carry away 
the pleasantest memories of Bloomfield and 
its comfortable inn, and shall hope to return 
some day for a longer visit. But at present 
business at home is imperative and the failure 
to find the papers makes it doubly so.” 

“ There ’s one won’t tear his clothes to hold 
him,” muttered Sam to Polly. Polly could 
have produced another, but reflecting that 
silence was golden, held her peace. 

“ The pleasantest job I ’ve done for a week,” 
continued Sam, “ will be to saddle and bridle 
his hoss.” 

Mr. Train, who had no more suspicion of 


140 Polly's Secret 

Sam’s dislike than he had of Polly’s, bade 
them all a cordial farewell. Sam indeed 
retired to the office and seated himself at the 
desk as the most dignified position he could 
think of. The rest of the family, even to Jane 
and Sarah, gathered around the door. 

“ Well, Miss Polly,” Mr. Train said with a 
parting bow, “ I suppose you ’ll be an old lady 
when I come again if time continues to work 
such marvellous changes as it has since my 
last visit.” 

Polly devoutly hoped she might in very 
truth, but only blushed and looked confused. 

Mr. Train’s good breeding would not permit 
him to overlook even an inferior ; and missing 
Sam from the little group, he sought him in 
the office. 

"Well, my good fellow, I ’m leaving you,” 
he said. 

“So it appears,” responded Sam, without 
turning his head. 

“ You have made me very comfortable 
here,” continued the guest. 


“ That *s what we run a tavern for,” re- 
plied Sam, dipping a quill in the ink, in a 
manner which implied that he at least had 
no time to waste. Mr. Train failed to take 
the hint. 

“ As a little token of my appreciation,” he 
said, “ allow me to leave you this,” dropping 
a silver dollar on the desk as he spoke. 

Sam turned the leaves of an account book 
diligently, and seemed not to hear the good- 
bye that followed the dollar. Mr. Train had 
reached the door when Sam’s voice recalled 
him. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ I find by this book 
you ’ve already paid your bill.” He wheeled 
in his chair and regarded the other calmly. 

“ Certainly. This is for you,” replied Mr. 
Train. 

“ Have you borrowed any money of me 
since you come here ? ” 

“ Of course not, but — ” 

“ Have I sold you anything ? ” 

“ Certainly not ; don’t you see — ” 


142 Polly' s Secret 

“ Have I hired out to do any work for 
you?” 

“ No, no, but my good man — ” 

“Then you don’t owe me nothin’,” said 
Sam, rising and extending the dollar on a 
sheet of paper. “ In our business of tavern 
keepin’ we can’t always draw the line as close 
as we ’d like to as to guests and what we ’ll 
do for ’em ; but when it comes to a free-born 
voter bein’ bribed like a colored nigger, this 
is a part of the country where it don’t work. 
Good-day, sir. If ever in your readin’ you 
come across that little set of resolutions Ben 
Franklin and Tom Jefferson and a few others 
drew up a spell back, you ’ll find ’em interestin’ 
and profitable perusin’.” He turned to the 
desk, refusing to hear Enoch’s explanation, 
and the latter in mingled chagrin and amuse- 
ment turned away, dropping the dollar with 
another he had intended for Jane deep in his 
pocket. 

“ I hope I have not offended our worthy 
friend Sam,” he said to his host at part- 


( 
















































































































. 
















. 















Polly's Secret 143 

in g. “ He seemed put out that I offered 
him a fee.” 

“ No great harm done, I guess,” returned Mr. 
Brooks, “ without ’t was the wrench it gave 
him to refuse it. The fact is, Sam has a way 
of thinkin’ he ’s the head of things here, and 
bein’ such good help and lookin’ after my in- 
terests as if they was his own, it ’s easier for 
me to let him think so than contradict him. 
Sam ’s good help and no mistake. Well, good- 
day, sir — good-day. Come again when you 
can.” 

The gray horse turned the corner in a little 
cloud of dust. Polly drew a breath of relief. 
Jane and Sarah returned to their work. And 
Sam, laying down his pen and dignity to- 
gether, went out to hoe the garden. 


CHAPTER X 


T HE early settlers of Bloomfield 
called the land Canaan, because it 
was to them a land flowing with 
milk and honey. Later, when a division 
became necessary, some inspired brain hit 
upon the happy thought of naming the new 
town for the blooming meadows among which 
it stood. It is not surprising, then, that in 
later years a homesick heart far from these 
same fragrant fields referred to them in 
eloquent tones, and fixed forever upon the 
town the name of “ Garden Spot of New 
England ; ” a name which, however it may 
be held in derision by the world at large, yet 
touches a chord in the heart of every loyal 
son of Bloomfield. 

There was little pride of birth or wealth 
in the town. Bloomfield early adjusted its 


145 


Polly's Secret 

scale according to the qualities of heart and 
mind, and with curious inconsistency appro- 
priated the honors of any distinguished son 
as its own, while it unblushingly cast forth 
the evil-doer as an alien. But sectional pride 
Bloomfield had in abundance. The tumbling 
waters that divided it from Milburn marked 
a division of feeling as powerful as it was 
inconvenient, for the two towns had much 
in common, and familiar intercourse between 
them could hardly be avoided. But Bloom- 
field and Milburn had a decided advantage 
over many other towns similarly situated, 
in the rocky island which divided the river 
at its steepest fall, and was connected by the 
mainland on either side by a wooden bridge. 
This island, though a part of Bloomfield, 
was considered neutral ground. Both towns 
patronized the mills built upon it, and here 
after long discussion the county’s first bank 
was located, in a small strawberry-colored 
building, which served as a loafing place for 
the more genteel loafers of both sides. 

10 


146 Polly's Secret 

Bloomfield and Milburn, like all other 
Maine towns, were patriotic ; never a Fourth 
of July went past that was not marked by 
roaring cannon, waving flags, and the usual 
demonstrations in which “ Young America ” 
since the days of ’76 has vented the ex- 
uberance of his patriotic spirits. For once 
in the year the two church bells on Locke 
Hill forgot their differences of opinion, and, 
aided by the weaker tones of the academy 
bell, joined forces amicably, in an effort to 
drown the notes of Milburn’s one church bell. 
All night the bonfires on Locke Hill jeered at 
the answering fires on Neil Hill across the 
river. 

But the towns were growing ambitious. 
Milburn, especially grown presumptuous by 
reason of her rapid growth, was desirous of 
emulating her older sisters down the river 
in a celebration grander than any the county 
had ever seen. Yet Milburn felt that her 
unaided resources were hardly equal to her 
ambitions. And after long consideration, a 


Polly's Secret 147 

proposal was made that the two towns 
unite in celebrating, impartially parading 
the streets of both, and holding all services 
on the island. It was a startling innovation, 
and many were the conventions held at the 
tavern or the corner store opposite before 
Bloomfield yielded a doubting consent, half 
fearful even then that the shrewd Milburnites 
would in some way work the combination 
to their personal advantage. 

There followed busy days at the tavern, 
for the Brooks family were usually well to 
the front in any public demonstration ; and 
all the people of the surrounding country 
were wont to make the tavern their head- 
quarters on the all-important day. Not that 
the tavern coffers were greatly enriched 
thereby, for most of the people, while they 
made free with its porches and windows, 
brought their lunch from home, eating it in 
any convenient corner of which they could 
obtain possession. This year the young 
ladies of the two towns would serve dinner 


148 Polly's Secret 

in the grove on the island, and Jane and 
Deborah had been asked to assist. Polly, who 
now considered herself quite grown up, pouted 
a little. “ They might have asked me, too,” 
she said to her sister. “ It ’s much nicer to be 
on the inside of things.” 

“ There ’s no suiting you,” returned Debo- 
rah impatiently. " If I remember rightly, 
when we had the ball last year you seemed 
to prefer the outside.” But Polly came home 
triumphant the next day. There was to be a 
Liberty car, with a white goddess and a red 
and blue Uncle Sam, surrounded by the thir- 
teen original States. Tom Kimball of Bloom- 
field was to represent Uncle Sam, and Maria 
Thompson of Milburn, who was known as the 
prettiest girl for miles around, and had been 
educated in Boston, consented to fill the posi- 
tion of goddess. The honors had been divided 
with just and impartial care. The car would 
be drawn by eight horses, four from Bloom- 
field and four from Milburn, and the thirteen 
girls to represent the States were chosen six 


P oily's Secret 149 

from each side of the river and one from the 
island. 

“ And I ’m to be Massachusetts,” Polly an- 
nounced with some importance ; “ and carry 
a pine branch in my hand, because Maine was 
a part of Massachusetts then, and that ’s the 
part they want to represent.” 

“ And get your new muslin covered with 
pitch most likely,” suggested Deborah. 

“ No, for I shall wrap a handkerchief 
around the cut end of the branch. And we 
are all going to wear gilt crowns.” 

“ Crowns is funny for a Fourth of July 
show in a free republic,” put in Jane; but 
Polly was too much excited to notice minor 
criticisms. 

“ There ’s one thing bothers me,” she said. 
“ The paper that had the directions on it 
said I must have a basket of apples in my 
lap ; but who ever heard of apples Fourth 
of July?” 

“ There ’s plenty of dried apples up attic,” 
suggested Sarah, at which Deborah and Jane 


150 Polly's Secret 

laughed, and advised Polly to decorate her- 
self with strings of dried apple. 

“ I presume,” Polly remarked with scathing 
indignation, “ that you are trying to make 
me mad, but you can’t do it. I am going 
now, but only because I think such idle talk 
as yours is unprofitable. And I have no doubt 
I can find some one who is not only more will- 
ing to advise me, but also more capable.” 

That some one proved to be Sam, whom she 
met in the hall. Sam, who was an officer in 
the militia, took an active part in preparing 
for the celebration, and felt a deep responsi- 
bility for its success; moreover, there was 
nothing so speedily aroused Sam’s sympathy 
as to ask his advice. He listened with in- 
terest as Polly unfolded her perplexity. 

“ You ought to have the apples,” he said 
when she finished. “ The committee is par- 
ticular about the emblems ; but it ’s alto- 
gether too late for real apples. See here ” — 
a sudden idea seemed to strike him — a them 
old maid Putnams has got the very thing if 


Polly's Secret 151 

they ’d lend it. It ’s a basket of apples all 
made of wax, and sets on their parlor table.” 

Sam’s head contained an inventory of the 
furnishings of every house in town. 

“ Do you suppose they’d let me take it?” 
Polly asked anxiously. 

“Well,” replied Sam thoughtfully, “ they’re 
peculiar, and on an ordinary occasion I should 
say perhaps they might not want to lend it ; 
but it would be a curious kind of a person 
that would refuse to do anything to help at 
such a time as this. It ain’t you that wants 
it, but the town. More than that, it ain’t the 
town, but the nation whose birthday we ’re 
a-celebratin’. If they refuse I shall take care 
that the procession don’t do any salutin’ in 
front of their house.” 

Polly won from her mother a reluctant per- 
mission to approach the Misses Putnam. 

“ Though I don’t really like it, Polly Jane,” 
objected Mrs. Brooks. “ The Miss Putnams 
are not people I feel free to ask a favor of as 
I should of some. They don’t go to our 


152 


Polly's Secret 

church, to begin with, though I ’m not one 
that thinks any harm of that ; but they are 
odd and particular, and it ’s something you 
can’t replace if you injure it.” 

But Polly’s coaxing at last prevailed ; and 
the next day after school she knocked at the 
green front door. The Misses Putnam were 
not natives of Bloomfield, though their resi- 
dence in the little white house dated farther 
back than Polly’s recollection. They had 
come here from no one ever quite knew 
where, — two prim, straight young women, 
with an aged father and a tiny slip of a ser- 
vant, whom they called a maid. The little 
maid had grown and waxed strong and 
buxom with the passing years, but was with 
them still, a middle-aged woman now. The 
aged father had long since passed away ; but 
the two Misses Putnam remained much the 
same, mingling little with the town’s people, 
and always reserved in regard to their own 
affairs. It was generally agreed that they 
had “ seen better days,” and sometimes hinted 


i53 


Polly's Secret 

that they had been educated abroad. Polly 
had never been in their house. The busy wife 
of a tavern keeper has little leisure for call- 
ing, and Mrs. Brooks was not on visiting 
terms with the sisters. 

The maid, who answered Polly’s knock, 
admitted her to a shaded parlor, while she 
carried her name to the Misses Putnam. 
“ It ’s tavern-keeper Brooks’ little girl,” Polly 
heard her announce to some one in the next 
room, but failed to catch the low-voiced re- 
sponse. The parlor, notwithstanding the 
summer day, had a chilly feeling, and the 
closely drawn curtains made a semi-darkness. 
Polly, coming in from the bright sunshine, 
could see nothing at first ; but as her eyes 
became accustomed to the dim light, she 
looked about her in some curiosity. It was 
not unlike other Bloomfield parlors in its 
general effect, a little dreary and forlorn, 
suggestive of funerals or ceremonious calls ; 
but on the square table in the centre stood 
something carefully covered with a white 


154 Polly's Secret 

cloth. This undoubtedly was the object of 
her search. 

Presently the maid returned and ushered 
Polly to the back room, which, as in most 
New England houses, was far pleasanter 
than the parlor. The Misses Putnam were 
sitting by a low round table, spread with 
a snowy cloth. On it was a plate contain- 
ing very thin slices of bread, and beside the 
plate cups and saucers of the thinest china. 
As the maid gathered the things upon a 
tray, Polly noticed a little fat silver cream 
pitcher and a pair of sugar tongs of curious 
design. 

The sisters greeted her gracefully, and Miss 
Miriam explained that they had just finished 
afternoon tea. 

“ That will do, Merritt,” she said to the 
woman, who seemed to be loitering in the 
room to hear Polly’s errand. Merritt gath- 
ered up her tray and disappeared. 

Polly found some difficulty in stating her 
request. It was not so easy as she had 


Polly's Secret 155 

thought to ask of these prim ladies the loan 
of one of their household gods. 

When she at length stammered out her 
desire, she saw the two sisters exchange swift 
glances. Miss Miriam, who was usually 
spokesman, turned to her sister. “ Well, Hul- 
dah ? ” she said. 

Miss Huldah hesitated. Polly’s color rose. 

“ Oh, I ’m afraid I ’ve asked something I 
ought not to,” she said impulsively. “ Please 
forget about it and say no more. My mother 
does n’t approve of borrowing, and I would n’t 
have asked for it for myself, but it was for the 
celebration.” 

“ There is no harm done, my dear,” Miss 
Miriam said reassuringly. “ Even if we should 
decide we could not lend it, we are glad to 
have you come and ask us. It shows con- 
fidence in a person to ask a favor. Huldah, 
suppose you bring the basket and let Miss 
Polly see it.” 

Miss Huldah brought it forth with evident 
pride — a curious woven network of wax, 


156 Polly's Secret 

filled with red and golden fruit. Polly gazed 
at it with awe. “ How real they look,” she 
said. 

“ Set it on the table, Huldah, and I will tell 
Miss Polly about it,” said the elder sister. 
“ You may not know that we are English?” 
turning to Polly. 

“ I did n't know it,” returned Polly faintly. 
What must they think of her for asking their 
assistance in celebrating the humiliation of 
their country. 

“ We were born in England,” Miss Miriam 
continued. “ I was eight years old and Hul- 
dah six when we came to Boston to live. 
We were very happy in the New World, 
and had grown to be patriotic little Amer- 
icans, when our mother died, and our father, 
hardly knowing what to do with us, sent 
us back to England to be educated. We 
were there eight years. I was twenty when 
we came home. It was at school that Huldah 
learned to do fruit and flowers in wax. She 
had a great many beautiful pieces, but this is 


Polly's Secret 157 

the only one left. The others were ” — a 
faint color rose in Miss Miriam’s thin face — 
“ disposed of when father’s reverses came.” 

“You must think a great deal of it/’ Polly 
said admiringly. 

“We prize it highly/’ Miss Huldah answered. 
“ But I am going to lend it to you, for I am 
sure you will be careful of it. And with my 
sister, I feel that you have honored us by ask- 
ing the favor.” 

“ But you are English,” Polly objected, 
“ and this is for Fourth of July. Perhaps you 
would not want to help.” 

Both sisters smiled. 

“ Did I not tell you,” Miss Miriam said, 
“ that we became very patriotic little Ameri- 
cans in our early years ? Did you think eight 
years of English schooling could eradicate 
that ? I remember the girls at school used to 
call us rebels and Yankees, and once Huldah 
was punished because she refused to study on 
the Fourth of July.” 

“You can come for the basket on the 


158 Polly's Secret 

morning of the Fourth/’ Miss Miriam said, 
as Polly rose to go. 

“ Of course if it rains you won’t want it? ” 
Miss Huldah added anxiously, and from her 
tone Polly knew she hoped for rain. She 
wished, as she went down the hill, that she 
had n’t asked for it, yet she was glad to know 
these high-bred ladies whose manner gave her 
a curious impression of something foreign to 
the life around her. The tavern seemed to 
have a half-furnished appearance, and Debo- 
rah’s voice, as she called to Polly from the 
next room, rang through the house. Polly 
unconsciously lowered her tone as she replied, 
thinking of Miss Miriam’s soft voice. She 
told no one the story of her visit. The ladies 
had not hinted by word or look that they pre- 
ferred silence, but the very confidence with 
which Miss Miriam had spoken bound Polly 
in honor. 

“They trusted me without asking me not 
to tell,” she reflected, “ and I will not gossip 
about their affairs.” So even to her mother 


Polly's Secret 159 

she only said that the ladies had been very 
nice, and when Sam questioned her with some 
curiosity, assured him of the success of her 
visit, and adroitly changed the subject by ask- 
ing if the militia were to lead the procession. 


CHAPTER XI 


H OWEVER Miss Huldah may have 
wished for rain, she was doomed 
to disappointment, for the all-im- 
portant morning dawned clear and cloud- 
less; hot, of course. Your Maine Fourth of 
July must always be hot to be successful, 
for Maine is quite capable of producing a 
July day that shall require overcoats and 
heavy shawls. The town, as usual, awoke at 
the first stroke of midnight as the deadly foes 
of slumber began to reign; and since lying 
awake and longing for quiet is hardly condu- 
cive to good temper, and no one wants to feel 
cross on the Fourth, there was an early break- 
fast in most of the homes of the two towns. 
Before eight o’clock the stream began to pour 
down the hills into Bloomfield, and over the 
bridge, for the island was the centre of at- 


Polly's Secret 161 

traction to-day, and the procession started 
from there. There had been a long discussion 
as to which town should be visited first, but 
Bloomfield magnanimously ceded the honor 
to Milburn as the originator of the scheme. 
As Sam explained it : 

“They was bound to go to Milburn first 
anyhow ; and it saved our feelin’s and sort of 
give us the upper hand to have it appear ’s if 
’t was our idea.” 

It was a grand procession when at last the 
hour for starting arrived. First came the 
band in their red and blue suits, their instru- 
ments glistening in the sun, and crimson faces 
swollen with effort, as they puffed into the 
celebration (to use Jane’s expression) “wind 
enough to run a small-sized tornado.” Fol- 
lowing them the militia, keeping step like one 
man, with mounted officers galloping wildly 
back and forth, flourishing their arms and 
shouting their orders in stentorian voices that 
rang from hill to hill. Foremost among these 
latter, and yielding to none in the powerful 


1 62 Polly's Secret 

delivery of his orders, was Sam, resplendent 
in gilt trimmings, and carrying himself in a 
manner that made Polly wonder how a being 
so capable of splendor could descend to such 
work as chopping wood or caring for her 
father’s cows. There were two aged citizens, 
who were Bloomfield’s sole survivors of the 
Revolutionary War, seated in a shay owned by 
Milburn’s wealthiest citizen, the shay, which 
was new and shining, being supposed to bal- 
ance the veterans who were aged and infirm. 
Milburn’s last Revolutionary veteran had died 
the year before. There was a procession of 
horribles that frightened all the babies and 
raised shouts of laughter from the crowd. 
There were private teams of patriotic citizens 
from both towns, decked with streamers of 
red, white, and blue. But the glory of the 
whole procession was the Liberty car. Origi- 
nally a hayrick, it had been draped and orna- 
mented until none but the most aristocratic 
goddess could have objected to its plebeian ori- 
gin. The goddess herself occupied a gilded 


Polly's Secret 163 

throne reared to a dizzy height in the centre. 
Behind her, and holding the immense flag 
which formed a background and afforded a 
slight protection from the sun’s fierce rays, 
stood Uncle Sam, bowing and smiling to the 
crowd as he passed them. Lower down, 
grouped in order about the throne, were the 
thirteen States in their crisp muslins and flut- 
tering ribbons. Polly, as Massachusetts, oc- 
cupied a prominent position on the northeast 
corner, her voluminous skirts nearly conceal- 
ing Maria Cayford, who, as Rhode Island, was 
crowded in between Massachusetts and Con- 
necticut. Maria did n’t mind her inferior 
position. The plainest girl of the group, she 
was well aware that she owed her selection to 
the fact that thirteen cannot be equally di- 
vided by two. The thirteenth girl must come 
from the island, and Maria was the only girl 
who lived on the island. But Maria, who 
had spent her life in the little brown house 
near the sawmill, was quite accustomed to 
filling gaps and being cultivated or neglected 


164 Polly' s Secret 

by the girls of either side, as suited their con- 
venience. She had learned philosophically to 
take life as it came, and greeted neglect or 
notice with an indifference which many a 
more popular girl might have envied. 

Straggling before the procession, streaming 
along on either side, and bringing up the rear 
with panting breath, was the typical Ameri- 
can feature without which no Fourth of July 
celebration can ever be complete — “ Young 
America ” himself, in the full realization that 
the day is his own, and rejoicing madly in the 
unwonted opportunity for noise; for at this 
time “ Young America ” had yet to enter into 
the fond delusion which later possesses him — 
that the world is his all the year round. He 
had been taught to content himself on ordi- 
nary days with a very small plot of ground. 
But the Fourth was his, and the latent patriot- 
ism swelled beneath his Sunday jacket, until 
he was only preserved from bursting by allow- 
ing it to escape through his mouth. 

The wax basket, carefully held on Polly’s 


Polly's Secret 165 

lap, was an object of much admiration ; some 
solicitude also, for several persons expressed 
an anxious hope that the sun would n't soften 
the wax, until Polly in alarm held her pine 
branch carefully over it, and gave up all hope 
of enjoying herself, to troubled care for the 
borrowed treasure. When they passed the 
Misses Putnam’s home, the sisters stood in 
the gateway, both stretched on tiptoe and 
peering into the cart, as if to make sure their 
property was yet unharmed. 

It was high noon when the procession broke 
ranks on the island, and Polly, stiff with 
weariness, clambered down from the hayrick, 
wondering if she ought to return the basket 
before dinner. As she reached the ground, 
Miss Huldah Putnam’s hand fell lightly on 
her arm. 

“ I thought you ’d be through with the 
basket now,” she said. “And if you don’t 
want it any longer, I ’ll take it right home.” 

Polly gladly yielded it up, with many thanks 
for the loan. 


1 66 Polly's Secret 

“ I hope it is n’t hurt/’ she said in alarm, 
for Miss Huldah was examining it carefully. 
She lifted her head as Polly spoke, a relieved 
smile overspreading every feature. 

“ Not a mite,” she answered. “ To tell the 
truth, I ’ve passed an anxious forenoon worry- 
ing lest the heat should melt it some. But 
it ’s just as firm and hard as ever. We 
noticed how carefully you kept it in the shade, 
and Miriam said she knew we could trust you 
with it. Oh, don’t mention it, my dear. We 
were glad to lend it, and we hope you ’ll come 
in and see us often, for Miriam has taken a 
great fancy to you.” 

Polly responded gratefully, and parted with 
the little lady, feeling that she had made new 
friends. Unite was waiting for her. 

“ The tables are all full,” he said in a dis- 
gusted tone, “ and we ’ve got to wait.” And 
indeed every available space at the four long 
tables was already monopolized by hungry 
celebrators. But Jane, catching sight of 
Unite and Polly, beckoned them mysteriously, 


Polly's Secret 167 

and soon conducted them to a secluded corner 
on the river bank, where a private dining room, 
screened off from the vulgar horde by bushes, 
had been set apart for favored guests. Jane 
by reason of her executive ability held a high 
position among the heads of the culinary de- 
partment, and her services as a caterer were 
not to be despised. There was no one else at 
the small table, and Polly soon found that 
Jane was eager to talk over the day’s events 
with a sympathetic soul. 

“ Was n’t it grand?” she asked, pressing 
upon them beans and brown-bread, hot from 
the oven in the ground. “ I ’ve been in the 
habit of attendin’ Fourth of July’s for a 
good many years, but this beats ’em all, 
and leaves some to spare. Have some of 
the cold meat, Unite. I never see anything 
handsomer than that Liberty car. This is 
your kind of pickles, Polly. And warn’t the 
militia fine?” 

“ Did you see Sam, Jane?” inquired Unite, 
who with all the rest of Bloomfield had 


1 68 Polly's Secret 

marked Sam’s attentions to Drusilla, and 
marvelled thereat. 

“Yes, I both see and heard him,” replied 
Jane dryly. “ Sam ain’t one to hide himself 
in a corner when there ’s showin’ off to be 
done. Not but what he was a credit to the 
family, Polly. I never see Sam placed to 
better advantage.” 

Jane spoke carelessly, but beneath the light 
tone lay a deep admiration for Sam’s military 
tactics and a personal pride in him. 

“ He ’s one of these men that rises to the 
occasion,” she soliloquized. “I don’t know 
but what ’twill be safe enough if I should 
decide to risk it.” 

It was after dinner was cleared away and 
the crowd was watching the games on the 
river bank that Jane, hunting among the 
boxes and baskets for a teaspoon, was 
approached by a fair girl with very pink 
cheeks, and blue roses in her bonnet. 

“ Well, Drusy,” Jane inquired, “ you havin’ 
a good time ? ” 


169 


Polly's Secret 

Drusilla replied with a sigh of content. 

“ But I want to talk with you, Jane, in pri- 
vacy. Can’t we get off by ourselves ? ” 

“ Well, a Fourth of July celebratin’ ground 
ain’t the best place in the world to talk 
secrets,” answered Jane, who was anxious to 
join the merrymakers. “ But if it ’s anything 
that won’t keep, I don’t know but back here 
in the grove ’s as good a place as any.” 

Drusilla linked her arm affectionately in 
Jane’s, and accompanied her to the place indi- 
cated. But when they were comfortably seated 
on the pine needles, she seemed loath to speak. 

“Well,” inquired Jane, who as usual found 
Drusy a tiresome companion, “what is this 
important business ? ” 

Drusilla blushed and looked confused. 

“You’re so sensible, Jane, I suppose you ’ll 
think me very silly,” she said. “ But I can’t 
feel comfortable about it until I know. You 
see we always considered Sam as kind of be- 
longin’ to you, and when he begun coming to 
our house I did n’t think much of it. But he 


170 Polly's Secret 

kept on, and now everybody ’s noticed it and 
thinks it ’s a Settled thing. But I don’t feel 
hardly right about it till I know you ’re satis- 
fied. I don’t want to take anything that be- 
longs to anybody else.” Drusilla stopped. 
Jane looked at her meditatively. Drusy’s 
blushes, she reflected, did n’t necessarily mean 
much. She’d act just the same if ’t was the 
last piece of mince pie she wanted. She waited 
so long that the color began to die out of 
Drusy’s cheeks. 

“ I wish you ’d tell me, Jane,” she said wist- 
fully. “ People keep askin’, and I don’t know 
what to say. And no matter how much I 
wanted anything, I would n’t takes it away 
from you.” 

“You can’t take what I haven’t got and 
what’s more don’t want,” replied Jane, her 
decision made at last. “ Go along and have 
a good time, and never bother about me, 
Drusy. I’ve a sort of an idea that single 
blessedness ’ll agree with me better ’n matri- 
mony would. I never could be one of them 


Polly's Secret 171 

dingin’ kind of women. So don’t say another 
word, Drusy, but take what you can get and be 
thankful for it. And if that ’s all you ’ve got 
to say we might ’s well join the others. We ’re 
losin’ a lot of fun, and it ’ll soon be time for 
the speeches.” 

The most glorious of Fourths must give 
place to a fifth at last. The afternoon, with 
its games and music, its eloquent speeches 
from the ministers, doctors, and lawyers 
who represented the intellect of the two 
towns, the delivery of an original poem by 
Master Tompkins, all were over by the time 
the level rays of the sun shot under the 
pine branches and began to play hide and 
seek among the brown trunks. 

Farmers’ teams loaded to the utmost ca- 
pacity drove reluctantly away, and villagers 
followed in little knots of two or three. Sam, 
divided between his admiration for Drusilla’s 
pink and white beauty, and his desire to talk 
over the day with Jane, approached the latter 
with an offer of assistance. 


172 Polly's Secret 

“Them baskets looks mighty hefty,” he 
remarked. 

“ Yes,” replied Jane briskly, “ and them 
baskets has got everything in ’em from 
cream to cider apple-sauce and back again 
to new cheese so soft it has to be eat with 
a spoon. You’d like nothin’ better, I dare 
say, than to decorate them military clothes 
of yourn with the drippin’s, and then ask 
me to spend to-morrer cleanin’ it off. But 
as it happens, Tom Pettingill ’s goin’ my 
way with his wagon, and he’s invited me 
to ride, baskets and all.” 

“And mighty welcome he is to you, bas- 
kets and all,” returned Sam. “ Bein’ tavern 
baskets, I felt kind of obliged to offer. But 
so long ’s I ain’t needed, I ’ll hurry along 
and overtake Drusy.” 

“You won’t need to hurry,” was Jane’s re- 
assuring reply, as he turned away. “ Drusy ’s 
lookin’ round for you at every third step.” 


CHAPTER XII 


S UMMER vacation at the academy 
commenced with haying, for the 
large boys of the school must em- 
ploy the season either in assisting on the 
home farm or in earning funds for the win- 
ter term by “ working out.” 

Many of the girls too were needed in 
kitchen or dairy to supply the appetites 
of the hungry laborers. Moreover, Master 
Tompkins had his own farm work to look 
after. 

A few of the older pupils ended their 
school days with this term. One of the 
boys, who was looked upon with admira- 
tion because of his glowing prospects, was 
going to college. He was a promising lad, 
and Bloomfield had great hopes for his fu- 
ture. Rebecca Pratt sorrowfully gathered 


174 Polly's Secret 

her books together, shedding a few quiet 
tears upon the worn covers, while Master 
Tompkins, the only man in Bloomfield who 
ever presumed to criticise the minister, gave 
voice to his indignation. “ Pretty works, I 
should say, ” he stormed. “ The idea that 
a woman’s poor weak brain does n’t need 
all the strengthening it can get. I am sur- 
prised, Rebecca, that a man of your father’s 
intelligence should hold such ridiculous views 
on the subject of education. Do you know 
what effect it will have on my school ? 
Every silly sheep in your father’s parish 
will jump through the same gap, and I 
shall lose my best scholars. I will not 
submit to it. You may tell your father, 
Rebecca, that I shall write a letter to the 
Bloomfield 6 Chronicle ’ on the subject of edu- 
cation for women, and he may reply to it 
or not, as he sees fit.” 

All this and more to the same effect 
failed to comfort Rebecca, who, having in- 
herited her father’s love for study, was 


/ 


Polly's Secret 175 

deeply grieved to have learning denied her. 
Polly looked on half disapprovingly. 

“ I really can’t understand you, Rebecca/’ 
she said, as they sat under the shady maples 
at recess. “I’m sure I should be glad to 
leave school and be done with lessons, and I 
hope my father ’ll be one of the silly sheep 
Master Tompkins scolded about. I mean to 
coax him to jump.” Polly spoke confidently, 
well aware that her good-natured, easy-going 
father could be easily persuaded to any plan 
she proposed. 

Vacation was hardly the playtime it had 
been in former years. Polly Jane was grow- 
ing a woman now, and more was expected of 
her. Some of the household tasks fell regu- 
larly to her charge, and there were feats of 
spinning, weaving, sewing, and knitting to be 
accomplished, in all of which Deborah insisted 
Polly should do her part. Yet, compared with 
most girls of her age, Polly had little to do, 
and found many a leisure hour for reading, 
walking, or visiting. The Misses Putnam 


176 - Polly's Secret 

were becoming her warm friends. More than 
once Polly sat in their quaint sitting room and 
drank very weak tea from their very thin cups 
and ate wafers of bread and butter off the 
gilt-edged plates. Miss Miriam told her long 
stories of their English school days, and 
Miss Huldah taught her patterns of delicate 
embroidery. 

“ You are the first real friend we have ever 
made in Bloomfield/’ Miss Huldah confided 
to her one day. “Miriam and I have both 
thought these last few years that it may have 
been a mistake. But during father’s lifetime 
he was so averse to meeting strangers. We 
think it troubled him that he could not enter- 
tain as he did before his reverses. And now 
it is too late to begin making friends with the 
older people. But we are glad to see a young 
face like yours in our house.” 

So though her mother advised her not to 
go too often, Polly became a frequent visitor 
at the little white house next the church. 
The other girls could n’t understand what she 


Polly's Secret 177 

found so interesting in those queer old ladies, 
and were inclined to ridicule the intimacy. 
Only Rebecca assured her gravely that she 
must have a very mature mind, and that the 
minister respected the Misses Putnam very 
highly. Indeed, the gentle little women, with 
their soft voices and polished manners, their 
ignorance of dead languages and ’ologies, were 
types of Parson Pratt’s ideal woman. Their 
English school had done its utmost in the way 
of accomplishments. Miss Miriam had been 
taught to play the harp, and Miss Huldah 
could draw and paint. Each could stammer 
a few French phrases and repeat long selec- 
tions of poetry. In Parson Pratt’s estima- 
tion there was nothing more to be desired; 
and although the Misses Putnam were regular 
attendants of the rival church, he gave them 
hearty admiration. 

Polly persuaded Deborah to go with her one 
afternoon, not so much because she wanted 
her company, for she had an undefined feeling 
that Deborah and the Misses Putnam would 


12 


178 Polly's Secret 

have little in common, but Miss Miriam had 
expressed a desire to meet other members of 
the Brooks family, and Mrs. Brooks was 
always too busy to go. Deborah sat stiff and 
uncomfortable during the visit, and criticised 
her hostesses freely on the way home. Even 
the afternoon tea, in which Polly delighted, 
met with her disapproval. 

“If folks must eat between meals, why 
can’t they just as well go to the cupboard and 
save all that fuss ? ” she argued. “ I can’t see 
what it amounts to. If I ’d been hungry I 
could have eaten everything they brought 
out.” 

In vain Polly tried to explain that it was n’t 
because people were hungry. 

“ Then what ’s it for ? ” said Deborah. “ I 
don’t believe in putting folks under obligation 
for so little as that. Just wait till we ask 
them to tea some night, for of course having 
eaten there we must return it.” 

“But I’ll tell you what it is, Polly,” she 
added half regretfully, as they reached the 


Polly's Secret 179 

tavern door. “ I believe they ’re something 
like Mr. Train’s kind of people.” 

There were other matters of interest besides 
the Putnams. Esther Dascomb had cousins 
from Boston for a long visit, and Polly’s as- 
sistance was required in entertaining them. 
There were picnics and tea-drinkings, excur- 
sions up the river by boat, and drives to 
Norridgewock, the county seat. Bloomfield 
people have ever been most hospitable to visi- 
tors, considering the praise accorded their 
beautiful town sufficient compensation for 
their efforts in entertaining. 

Sam and Drusilla were married early in 
August. This event, though sudden, created 
little surprise, for although Sam’s attentions 
to Drusy covered but a brief period, they had 
been sufficiently intense to attract notice from 
all quarters. Sam still remained at the 
tavern ; and the newly married couple com- 
menced their housekeeping on the opposite 
corner in a little wood-colored house, sur- 
rounded by horse-plum trees. J ane lent hearty 


180 Polly's Secret 

assistance from the moment the marriage 
intentions were announced, cutting the bride's 
dress, making the wedding cake, and fitting 
up the little three-roomed house. 

“ I did think,” she remarked to Deborah, as 
she brushed Sam’s new coat on the afternoon 
of the wedding day, “that having made up 
my mind not to take Sam Grimes, I ’d be able 
to wash my hands of him once for all. But 
it begins to look as if I ’d got two on my 
hands instead of one.” 

Nevertheless Jane, who liked nothing better 
than to act as chief executive, was quite in 
her element. 

“ I made this match myself,” she retorted 
when Sarah ventured a remonstrance, “ and 
I ’m in duty bound to see it go off all right.” 

The Taylors could not afford a grand wed- 
ding, so Drusy and Sam walked over to the 
parsonage that night after supper, and were 
quietly married, the minister’s family serving 
as witnesses. Then they came down the hill 
in the starlight, to the little wood-colored 


Polly's Secret 181 

house, where Jane and Polly had lighted 
candles for their reception. 

It was the quietest kind of a wedding. But 
on the second day after, the youth of Bloom- 
field might have been seen making a collec- 
tion of old tin pans and brass kettles, and as 
soon as the shades of night had fallen a crowd 
of serenaders surrounded the little house, 
making night hideous with their din. Well 
knowing that they would subside only when 
served with refreshments, Sam, who had 
strong instincts of hospitality, would have 
invited them in to partake of cake and early 
apples. 

“We needn’t give ’em more than one 
apiece,” he urged. But Drusy was prudent to 
the verge of being near. 

“There’s more ’n twenty of ’em,” she 
replied, peeking through the curtain. “It 
would take two loaves of cake and a peck of 
apples. Keep still and they’ll think we’ve 
gone away.” 

“ They ’ll more likely think we ’re meaner ’n 


182 


Polly's Secret 

dirt,” retorted Sam, yet not averse to sav- 
ing the cake if he could save his reputation 
also. 

Suddenly the din subsided, and a grateful 
silence fell upon aching ears. 

“ Be they gone ? ” whispered Drusilla. Sam 
lifted the curtain softly. The noisy crowd 
were streaming across to the tavern yard. In 
the lighted back doorway stood Jane, with a 
tray of cake and doughnuts, while Unite and 
Polly were serving glasses of lemonade. 

Sam rushed across the road, Drusilla follow- 
ing. 

“Look a here now,” he commenced, but 
Jane silenced him with a gesture. 

“ Be still,” she whispered. “ They all think 
this is your doin’, and for the land sake let ’em 
think so. Oh, don’t look so scared, you ain’t 
got it to pay for. Mis’ Brooks ordered it 
done. Prob’ly havin’ known you some num- 
ber of years, she knew if this noise was 
stopped by feedin’, some of the neighbors had 
got it to do. Jest try an’ act free an’ gen’rous 


Polly's Secret 183 

now an’ urge ’em all to have some more, an’ 
it’ll go off all right.” 

“It’s a pity, Jane,” said Sarah, after the 
serenaders had dispersed and the bridal party 
returned home, “ that while you was pickin’ 
out a wife for Sam you didn’t get one not 
quite so much inclined to nearness. Sam had 
enough of that already.” 

Jane’s duties as chief executive were by 
no means ended with this occasion. Drusilla, 
who was totally lacking in self-reliance, came 
early and late to know what Jane thought of 
this and would Jane advise that; and when 
they made a trip to Augusta to purchase some 
furniture which could not be procured nearer 
home, Drusy insisted on Jane’s company. 
Sam demurred a little, lest he might be 
laughed at. He had already endured much 
bantering from the tavern boarders on the in- 
stability of his affections. But Drusy, like 
many other people of weak will, was some- 
times mulish in her obstinacy. 

“We’re goin’ to spend a good deal of 


184 Polly's Secret 

money/’ she argued, “and Jane is so sen- 
sible. No one would ever try to cheat her.” 

“Do you think they would cheat me?” 
Sam inquired, a little incensed at having his 
business ability called in question. Drusilla 
looked at him with admiring eyes. In her 
heart she believed him the keenest and most 
brilliant man in Bloomfield. Still she had set 
her heart on asking Jane to go, and in spite 
of Sam’s objections carried her point. To 
Sam’s secret relief Jane promptly declined. 

“ It ’s no use, Drusy,” she said decidedly. 
“ If folks want to embark on the sea of mat- 
rimony, I ’m perfectly willin’ to stand on the 
shore and give ’em a shove. And if they stay 
around near the shore, they’re welcome to 
my advice. But when it comes to goin’ 
aboard and steerin’ for ’em, I can’t do it.” 

To which Drusy, with wide-open blue eyes, 
replied that they were n’t going by boat and 
never had such a thought. She didn’t see 
where Jane got that idea. They would take 
Mr. Brooks’ white horse and her father’s ex- 


Polly's Secret 185 

press wagon. There was plenty of room, and 
she did wish Jane would go. But Jane, with 
a sigh, explained in plain language, void of 
metaphor, that she could n't. 

Drusy soon became almost one of the family 
at the tavern. It was so easy to run across 
in the morning to inquire why her bread 
did n’t rise like Sarah’s, or if they knew of a 
sponge cake that could be made with one egg ; 
and, being a sociable little body, she had no 
idea of sitting down alone in the afternoon. 
Then, too, at the tavern she was nearer 
Sam. 

“ I don’t know when she thinks we ’d get 
the chance,” said Deborah one afternoon 
when Drusy had departed, reproaching them 
all that they did n’t return her visits. 

“ We might walk round to the front tavern 
door and call on her here,” suggested Jane. 
But Mrs. Brooks interposed. 

“ Now, girls,” she said, “ I don’t see why 
you ’re always laughing at Drusy. She ’s a 
good little soul, and as free from malice and 


1 86 Polly's Secret 

backbiting as anybody could be. Perhaps she 
is a little soft, but she ’s got plenty of time to 
harden in the next fifty years.” 

“I wish I’d known her fifty years later 
then,” returned Deborah, to whom Drusy’s 
continual quotations from Sam were irri- 
tating. 




CHAPTER XIII 


T HEY were all in the tavern kitchen 
one evening. Drusy had lingered 
to watch Sarah make biscuit for 
supper, and Polly sat in her favorite window 
seat, looking idly out upon the road, and the 
little strip of river visible across neighbor 
Steward’s garden. Sam, who liked to be 
where there was most going on, had chosen 
this hour for bringing in to-morrow’s wood. 

Mr. Brooks appeared in the doorway, an 
open letter in his hand, and a puzzled frown 
knitting his brow. 

“See here, Sam,” he demanded, “I can’t 
make this out, even to tell who it ’s from.” 

Sam took the sheet, turning first to the sig- 
nature. 

“Looks like hens’ tracks,” he said, after a 
careful survey, “ but as near as I can make 


1 88 Polly's Secret 

out, it ’s from our royal friend Mr. Train.” 
He studied the letter for a moment. “ There ’s 
somethin’ here about surprise and impor- 
tant business,” he said, “ but never bein’ very 
good at doin’ puzzles, I can’t make it out.” 

Polly slipped from the window and thrust ' 
her head between her father and Sam, unable 
to wait longer. 

“ Let me see it, daddy,” she pleaded. 

The letter was indeed from Enoch Train. 
He was coming again on important business, 
which, perhaps, would surprise his good 
friend Mr. Brooks; would reach Bloomfield 
on Saturday. 

Polly’s heart sank. What could this mean, 
save that in some mysterious way he had 
learned more of the papers? A little faint 
and dizzy with the thought, she walked out 
through the sitting room, to the front hall, 
and stood in the open doorway. It was near 
the supper hour, and village loafers were all 
gone from the tavern steps. The square 
formed by the four roads lay white and dusty 


P oily's Secret 189 

in the evening sun, and a group of barefooted 
urchins were drilling in imitation of the 
militia. One who had been rejected as too 
little for the game was sticking his bare toes 
through the cracks in Drusy’s front yard 
fence, and counting the horseplums which had 
commenced to redden upon the trees. On the 
fourth corner, Eliza Kimball in the open win- 
dow was shouting to her mother, who was 
deaf, that she had set “the milk empt’in’s bread 
risin’.” It was Friday night, Polly suddenly 
remembered, and to-morrow Enoch Train was 
coming to claim his papers. Her whole heart 
rose in rebellion as she pictured the tri- 
umphant smile with which he would greet 
her, and her increasing dislike of the man cul- 
minated in a strong determination to thwart 
his purpose. To think with Polly was to act. 

“Mother,” she said, turning suddenly, as 
her mother came down the stairs, “ why can’t 
I go home with Friend Taylor to-morrow? 
You ’ve been promising me all summer, and I 
have n’t been yet.” 


190 Polly's Secret 

Polly tried to speak carelessly, but the wist- 
fulness in her tone was apparent. Mrs. 
Brooks considered for a moment. She had 
not yet heard of the expected guest. 

“ Why, you can,” she answered. “ I don’t 
know of anything special you ’re needed at 
home for, and ’t would be a good time.” 

Later, when she learned of Mr. Train’s 
letter, she looked perplexed. 

“ I most wish I ’d known it before,” she 
said to Deborah, “ for I ’ve promised Polly she 
should go down to Friend Taylor’s. But I 
don’t know as she ’ll be needed here.” 

Deborah, contrary to her usual custom, 
thought Polly might easily be spared. 
“ Though whatever she wants to go off among 
them Quakers for, I can’t see,” she added, 
with a shake of the head, which intimated 
that Polly Jane’s tastes were beyond her sis- 
ter’s comprehension. 

So by noon the next day Polly was com- 
fortably seated in the great farm wagon, be- 
hind Friend Taylor’s fat white horse, as he 


Polly's Secret 191 

leisurely climbed the hills that led away from 
town. The canvas bag at her feet contained 
her Sunday dress, and her best bonnet in its 
bandbox was packed with Friend Taylor’s 
bags and bundles behind. Polly cast an anx- 
ious glance at the bandbox now and then ; for 
under the bonnet, hidden beneath the lining of 
the box, was a treasure more precious than all 
her own possessions — the leather case, which 
she dared not leave behind. 

For about a mile their course followed the 
stage road down the river, and at every cloud 
of dust in the distance Polly trembled with 
apprehension lest the enemy from whom she 
was fleeing should appear behind it; and as 
they drew near the turn which halfway up the 
long hill would take them off in another di- 
rection, she drew a breath of relief. A little 
too soon, for almost as it left her lips, there 
appeared over the brow of the hill a horseman 
on a great gray horse. All too well she re- 
membered the sleek, graceful steed and the 
erect figure of his rider. If the old white horse 


192 Polly's Secret 

would only hurry ! But Friend Taylor also had 
caught sight of the stranger, and with pardon- 
able curiosity was driving more and more 
slowly, that he might not reach the turn too 
soon. A meeting was inevitable. 

“ Uncle Taylor,” spoke Polly swiftly, “ will 
you wait while I get some of those choke 
cherries by the fence ? ” The old man, nothing 
loath, drew rein, though in duty bound assur- 
ing Polly they were bad things for her to eat. 
Polly was out over the wheel and hidden in 
the friendly shelter of the bushes before the 
white horse fairly stopped, casting a longing 
look at the bandbox as she went. If she 
could but invent an excuse to take it with her. 

Friend Taylor would have been glad to 
interview the rider of the gray horse, but 
Enoch, lifting his hat courteously to the old 
man, swept on down the hill. Polly, watching 
him from the friendly shelter of the bushes, 
felt the glance which his piercing eyes cast 
upon the scene. 

In a moment more he was out of sight and 













































































































' 

. 




. 

























Polly's Secret 193 

she was clambering back into the wagon, with 
a few sorry, half -ripe specimens of fruit, which 
Friend Taylor immediately commanded her 
to throw away. 

“ Thee is n’t going to make thyself sick 
before thee gets a mile from home,” he insisted. 

Polly felt guilty as she listened to the good 
old man’s speculations concerning the stranger, 
wondering if she were doing wrong not to tell 
him who it was. But after he had finally settled 
it beyond question in his own mind at least 
that it must be one of the Harwoods from 
Winslow, it seemed equally wrong to contra- 
dict him. It was a long seven miles’ drive in 
the August sun, up one hill and down another, 
but always rising ; now passing low com- 
fortable farmhouses, whose inhabitants ran to 
the windows to see who Friend Taylor had 
with him, again driving slowly through shady 
woodland, where the beech leaves made flicker- 
ing shadows on the road. 

At each rise of the road Friend Taylor 
would encourage the old horse with, “ Take 

13 


194 


Polly's Secret 

plenty of time, Reuben ; thee can hurry on the 
other side ; ” and at the top of the hill, “ Slowly, 
Reuben, slowly ; thee knows thy foot is liable 
to stumble.” 

They crossed at last a little brook yellow 
with cow lilies. A cloud of butterflies, white 
and golden and brown, fluttered up from the 
roadside and scattered before the approaching 
wheels. Reuben, with renewed vigor, which 
betokened he was nearing home, turned from 
the highway, and began climbing a steep hill 
where ribbons of green grass alternated with 
brown wheel tracks. At the top a great brown 
house loomed in sight through the trees, and 
a sweet-faced woman, with snowy kerchief 
crossed upon her breast, appeared in the door. 

“ Thee hast done well, Adam,” she ex- 
claimed. “ I could have asked for no better. 
I was wishing to-day that thee would bring 
Polly home.” 

“So, so,” exclaimed the old man in pre- 
tended indignation. “ It ’s no use trying to 
surprise thee, Ruth. Here I’ve been chuck- 


Polly's Secret 195 

ling up hill and down to think I had 
stolen a march on thee, and now thee 
declares calmly thee was wishing for the 
very thing. It is well thee lives in thy 
present time and place, woman, or thee 
would stand good chance of being hung 
for a witch.” 

Aunt Ruth laughed delightedly, and kissed 
Polly, as she drew her inside to the shady 
living room, where immaculate order ever 
reigned. Polly had been in this room many 
times, but she could not remember ever 
having seen one of its belongings displaced 
or a speck of dust on its shining floor. 
Yet there was never any sign of broom or 
duster in Aunt Ruth’s house. The shaggy 
brown dog had his own especial mat be- 
fore the fireplace — equally pleasing to him 
whether the fire crackled merrily therein or 
the fireplace, as now, was filled with fra- 
grant pine boughs. The gray cat, who had 
been a kitten when Polly was a little girl, 
had her own cushion in a quiet corner. 


196 Polly's Secret 

The very clock marked the passing seconds 
with a low, restful tick. 

Aunt Ruth was an ideal hostess. From 
the moment one entered her house he gave 
up all responsibility for himself, content to 
be entertained in her own fashion. With 
no bustle or sense of effort, all the comfort 
in which the great brown house abounded 
was placed at the disposal of the guest. 
Placed at the disposal? Nay, disposed it- 
self about the guest, surrounding and en- 
folding with a sense of security and peace 
until the great world, with its vexing prob- 
lems, grew far off and unreal. 

To-day a late dinner was waiting in the 
cool kitchen. 

“ There’s always a breeze here,” Polly 
said half wonderingly, as a current of air flut- 
tered the leaves of the grapevine over the 
south window. 

“ That’s because the house is built to 
catch the breeze,” replied Friend Adam. 
“ The air of heaven is always at man's 


Polly's Secret 197 

disposal. If thee sets thy house beneath 
a hill and closes thy windows, it is thy 
own fault if the breezes find thee not” 

A beautiful light stole over Aunt Ruth’s 
face. 

“And if thee closes the windows of thy 
soul/’ . she said softly, “ thee shuttest out 
the breath of the Spirit. Give Polly a suffi- 
cient portion of the chicken, Adam. Thee 
hast brought her a long journey, and it is 
late.” 

At the fourth side of the table stood a 
vacant chair, toward which Polly cast frequent 
glances. “ Where ’s Maria, Aunt Ruth ? ” 
she asked at last. 

Aunt Ruth smiled. 

“ Thee knows Maria is shy of strangers,” 
she answered, “and thee has grown a young 
woman since she saw thee last. Maria will 
need time to get acquainted again.” 

Maria had been one of the town’s poor 
when Aunt Ruth’s motherly heart first 
opened to her; a forlorn child, whose thin 


198 Polly's Secret 

face and puny arms gave little promise of 
future usefulness. The neighbors declared 
the child was little short of an innocent. 
But years of tender care and happy home 
life had developed the frail child into a 
strong girl, and worked almost as marvel- 
lous a change in Maria’s mind. She would 
never be brilliant, but she had learned to 
read and write, and clung to the knowledge 
she gained with a tenacity which Polly, who 
learned and forgot with equal ease, some- 
times envied. She was a little younger than 
Polly, but the two had been close compan- 
ions on former visits, hunting eggs, feeding 
the chickens, or building playhouses together. 
Now for the first time Polly found a gulf 
between them. It was not that she had 
grown older. Maria, too, had lengthened 
her dresses and twisted her hair in a knot. 
And Polly learned ere the visit was over 
that Maria had a young man who came to 
call on Sunday evenings, — an honest, in- 
dustrious fellow, of whom Friend Taylor 


i 9 9 


Polly's Secret 

and his wife cordially approved. Maria 
responded after the first shyness evaporated 
to Polly’s efforts to get acquainted, and 
brought out her patchwork to display. But 
a common interest was lacking. Polly mar- 
velled that Maria should have grown so 
uninteresting, while Maria in her turn won- 
dered how she could ever have been fa- 
miliar with this superior young lady who 
seemed to understand all that Aunt Ruth 
talked about. 

Polly slept peacefully on the great high- 
posted bed in Aunt Ruth’s spare chamber, the 
leather case tucked carefully between the two 
feather beds. Once or twice she awoke to 
wonder sleepily what Enoch Train had said 
about the papers, and lulled by a sense of 
security, dropped asleep again. 

She woke next morning wondering at the 
unusual stillness, for at home even the Sabbath 
quiet was broken by the busy sounds of 
tavern life. So quiet it was that Polly feared 
lest she had risen before the family, and hesi- 


200 


Polly' s Secret 

tated to go down just yet. She leaned her 
elbows on the high window-sill and gazed over 
the wide outlook of wooded hills and green 
meadows. Far away to the east a rolling line 
of mist marked the river s course. Beneath 
the window the yard was brilliant with Aunt 
Ruth’s poppies and hollyhocks. A dignified 
white hen, followed by a sedate brood, now 
half grown, was walking solemnly up the path 
in answer to Maria’s summons. Polly reflected 
that at home the hens would have been run- 
ning and clucking. Everything at the Taylor 
farm seemed to be under a magic spell of 
peace. 

At precisely nine o’clock old Reuben drew 
the large wagon, to which an extra seat had 
been added, to the door, and the family set 
out for church. Maria, who always dressed in 
the soft colors so dear to Aunt Ruth, cast 
admiring glances at Polly’s bright ribbons. 
But Polly surveyed herself in the glass with 
some disapproval. 

“ I look like a peacock among you all,” 


201 


Polly's Secret 

she said ruefully. “I’m afraid you’ll be 
ashamed of me.” 

“ My dear,” chided Aunt Ruth, “ do I 
despise the rose in my garden because it wears 
a brilliant hue? Were not the bright colors 
and the soft ones all mixed by the same 
wise hand ? Thy pretty raiment is as much 
in keeping with thy youth as the bright blos- 
soms are with the summer day.” 

Nevertheless, Polly felt uncomfortably con- 
spicuous when they alighted from the wagon 
among the soberly dressed company which 
were slowly gathering. The little frame 
church with its square tower stood alone in the 
midst of wide-spreading pasture land. They 
had come suddenly upon it, from behind a 
cluster of white birches and fir trees. The 
people as they arrived went solemnly in, the 
men on one side, the women on the other. 
Polly sat with Maria on one of the low seats, 
while Aunt Ruth mounted to her accustomed 
place on the highest seat. Friend Adam on 
the opposite side was several seats below his 


202 


Polly's Secret 

wife. By twos and threes the congregation 
came in and took their places noiselessly. 
The silent worship began. 

A bee flew in at the open window, and 
catching the unwonted sight of flowers buzzed 
busily around Polly’s bonnet, only to fly 
out again in disappointment. The silence 
deepened; the reverent heads turned not to 
right or left ; not a whisper broke the stillness. 
An hour passed. 

There was a faint rustle from the upper 
seats, and faces turned expectantly in that 
direction. Aunt Ruth was standing, a serene 
look on her quiet face. 

“ He that dwelleth in the secret place of the 
Most High shall abide under the shadow of 
the Almighty. He shall cover thee with his 
feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust. 
His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.” 

To Polly, straining her ears to catch every 
word, the message that followed seemed sent 
to her. “ His truth thy shield and buckler.” 
It was the same message of truth that Parson 


203 


Polly's Secret 

Pratt had given her. The sense of security 
was not fancied. She need not cling to it, 
dreading the time when she must leave Friend 
Taylor’s house. It was something that she 
might take with her and keep forever. Truth 
would ever be her strongest defence. Could 
Enoch Train and his papers ever trouble her 
again ? 

They rode home in the afternoon shadows, 
speaking little, save as Friend Adam encour- 
aged his horse with assurances that it was an 
easy road. Polly wondered a little to see 
Aunt Ruth put on her apron and go briskly 
about preparations for dinner. Something of 
her feeling reflected itself in her face, for Aunt 
Ruth stopped beside her, smiling. 

“My dear,” she said, “it is a privilege to 
bear the Lord’s message to His people, but 
no greater privilege than to do the little 
duties that fall to me in caring for my family. 
It is all a part of the work we are given, 
and the willing heart pleases Him more than 
the ready tongue.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


P OLLY remained two days at the Tay- 
lor farm. It had been planned that 
she should return home when Friend 
Adam went up to market on “ Third ” day. By 
that time, she argued to herself, Enoch Train 
would have gone, as his visits had never ex- 
ceeded two days. But on the afternoon of 
Monday, as she sat in the shaded porch, listen- 
ing to a story of Aunt Ruth’s girlhood on 
Nantucket, they were startled by a sound of 
wheels coming up the lane, and, a moment 
later, Mr. Brooks’ black colt came in sight 
through the trees. 

“My father has come for me — ” Polly 
began, but stopped in dismay as the light 
wagon rolled into the yard, for the driver 
was none other than Enoch Train himself. 

“ Well, Miss Polly,” he began, “ they missed 
you so much that I have been dispatched to 


205 


Polly's Secret 

bring yon borne. Why, child,” he continued, 
his quick eye noting her unusual pallor, 
“ have I frightened you ? They are all well 
at home, only anxious for your return, so I 
volunteered to bring you.” 

Polly’s fear quieted a little. She had ex- 
pected a stern demand for the papers. Steady- 
ing her voice, she introduced Mr. Train to 
Aunt Ruth, feeling thankful that Friend 
Adam was safe at the other end of the farm. 
Mr. Train declined to enter the house, ex- 
plaining that Deborah had come a part of the 
way with him and been left to visit one of her 
friends near the town-house. Could Polly get 
ready to start at once ? Mrs. Brooks had sent 
an urgent message which Polly dared not dis- 
regard. With trembling fingers she packed 
the leather case again in the bandbox beneath 
her bonnet, and tied the strings securely. In 
spite of her anxiety, a half-unconscious sense 
of irony possessed her as she watched Enoch 
Train bestow the bandbox beneath the seat. 
If he only knew what it contained ! She ob- 


206 Polly's Secret 

served Aunt Ruth closely as she conversed 
with the stranger. Would the placid Quaker- 
ess come under the spell of his graceful man- 
ners as all the rest of her world had? To 
her relief she detected a faint shade of reserve. 
Aunt Ruth’s manner, while gracious and cor- 
dial as ever, lacked a quality she was wont to 
bestow on those whom she trusted, and Polly 
felt confirmed in her own distrust. 

Enoch evidently found nothing lacking. 
He remarked on the beauty of the old place 
and its location, and made many inquiries 
about the Quaker settlement when he and 
Polly were started. Then finding his com- 
panion little inclined for conversation, he went 
on talking of his own home in Falmouth, and 
the beautiful scenery of the coast around it. 
He was an interesting talker Polly could but 
confess. Once or twice she forgot herself and 
asked some question which led to further 
picturesque descriptions. She could almost 
see the white-capped bay and its rocky islands. 
Then suddenly a bump of the bandbox beneath 


207 


Polly's Secret 

the seat brought her back to the present and 
its responsibilities, and she became stiff and 
silent as before. 

They had gone nearly three miles and were 
climbing the long hill toward the town-house, 
when Enoch, who had in his turn been silent 
for a few moments, turned to Polly. 

“ You have n’t asked what business brought 
me to Bloomfield this time,” he said. It was 
coming now, Polly felt, and all the spirit of 
her Revolutionary grandfather rose within her 
to meet the occasion. 

“ I had not supposed it would be polite,” 
she answered carelessly. “ And why should I 
question of your affairs ? ” 

Mr. Train laughed lightly. 

“It may concern you more nearly than 
you think,” he answered, reaching forward to 
carefully remove a fly from the horse’s side. 
“ Suppose I tell you there was something at 
the tavern which I wanted, and I came to de- 
mand it of your father?” 

“ You ’ve been wanting something at the 


208 Polly's Secret 

tavern for some time,” replied Polly daringly. 
“ But unless unusual success has attended 
your efforts, I hardly see what good the de- 
mand is.” 

“ Ah, but I knew where to look this time 
for what I wanted, and I have secured the 
promise that it shall soon be mine.” 

“ There ’s many a slip between the cup and 
the lip,” returned Polly in a flippant tone, 
reckless of consequences. 

“ Hardly in a case of this kind. I have 
your father’s word for it, and, what is more 
important, your sister’s.” 

Polly reflected swiftly that he had read 
Deborah’s character correctly. If she had 
promised him the package, there was little 
hope of saving it. 

“ Well,” she said impatiently, “ if my father 
and sister choose to make rash promises, they 
may fulfil them if they can. So far as I am 
concerned, you are quite welcome to anything 
at the tavern which you can get.” 

Her companion laughed again. 


209 


Polly's Secret 

“Talk of woman’s curiosity/’ he said, 
“ here is a young woman who, to all appear- 
ances, is totally without it. So you don’t care 
to know what my business is ? ” 

“ I can think of nothing you can want at 
the tavern,” answered Polly slowly, “ save the 
one thing you have searched for in vain.” 

“ Oh, the papers. No, I have long since 
given them up.” 

Polly’s heart bounded. Given them up? 
His errand, then, was not what she had 
feared. There would be no more searching, 
no more anxious care. She settled back 
upon the seat with a sense of freedom long 
unknown. For thirty blissful seconds there 
was silence. Then Mr. Train continued : 

u What I wanted this time, Polly, was your 
sister Deborah. She has promised to be my 
wife.” The bandbox gave another lurch. 
Polly sat erect upon the seat again. 

“ Oh, no, no, no,” she cried. 

Mr. Train looked up in surprise at the 
first objection any member of the Brooks fam- 

14 


210 


Polly's Secret 

ily had offered. His prospective parents-in- 
law had accepted him with a cordiality truly 
gratifying. Deborah herself had appeared 
not unmindful of the material advantages 
which a union with the Train family would 
afford. Mr. Brooks had not failed to repeat 
Deacon Locke’s comment that a son-in-law 
like Mr. Train was a credit to Bloomfield ; 
and even Sam, whose antipathy had not in 
the least abated, had been heard to say that 
“ Deborah bein’ a master hand to hold her 
own, it would be a fair match.” 

Polly’s disapproval was therefore the more 
unexpected, though after the first involuntary 
protest she said no more. His searching 
glance rested on her for a moment. “ I won- 
der why ? ” he said half to himself. 

There had not seemed to be an unusually 
close bond between the sisters. The differ- 
ence in age was too great to allow of their 
being close companions, and not sufficient to 
develop that half-motherly love which an 
elder sister often has for one much younger 
than herself. 


21 I 


Polly's Secret 

For the first time Mr. Train began to have 
a glimmering perception of Polly Jane’s dis- 
like for himself, and many things he had 
noticed — for Enoch Train was a most ob- 
serving man — became clearer. A vain man 
would have been offended or flattered by the 
discovery, according to the quality of his vanity. 
Enoch Train, being totally devoid of that char- 
acteristic, was only amused. 

“ I hope you don’t object to me as a brother- 
in-law ? ” he asked. 

Polly, unable to tell the truth and unwilling 
to give an evasive answer, looked straight 
ahead as if she had not heard him. He 
laughed softly, and the sound suddenly set her 
blood boiling. For a moment there was dan- 
ger that she might jeopardize everything by 
giving way to her swelling indignation. But 
a memory of the past two days checked the 
words upon her lips. “ Why can’t people stay 
in places where it is easy to be good ? ” sighed 
poor Polly to herself. 

They were approaching the home of Deb- 


212 Polly's Secret 

orah’s friend, and Deborah herself, with a group 
of young women, appeared on the doorstone. 

“ So you don’t like me?” Enoch continued. 

“ Oh, never mind,” returned Polly wearily, 
but with her usual candor. “ I ’ll change my 
mind if I can, though I don’t very often. But 
if Debby is determined to marry you, it may 
be easier. People have to like their relation.” 

Mr. Train’s burst of laughter sent Polly 
quickly back into her shell and aroused Deb- 
orah’s curiosity. 

“ What in the world tickles you so ? ” she 
inquired, as her fianc6 sprang out to assist her 
in. But to Polly’s great relief he declined 
to explain, only vouchsafing when Deborah 
pressed for a reply that it was some of her 
sister’s nonsense, and not worth repeating. 

Deborah, in her new green muslin and Sun- 
day bonnet, was both looking and feeling well. 
Her engagement, entered into on Saturday, 
and announced by a whisper from Jane which 
electrified the choir on Sunday morning, had 
been the theme of discussion at noon inter- 


Polly's Secret 213 

mission. It was a great surprise to the village 
people, who, having long since assigned Deb- 
orah to the ranks of spinsterhood, were off 
their guard. And comment had run high, 
some opining that ’t was risky taking a stran- 
ger of whom Bloomfield knew little, while 
others wondered what the polished city gentle- 
man could find to admire in Deborah. The 
freely expressed opinion of Deacon Locke did 
much to counteract the former sentiment, 
while Deborah’s detractors on the principle 
of honor to him who succeeds began to dis- 
cover in her sterling qualities, hitherto un- 
noticed. 

The newly engaged couple occupied each 
other’s attention during the rest of the drive, 
and Polly was left to her own reflections, 
which were far from pleasant. How she 
longed to go on her knees and beg her sister 
not to marry this man! It had been hard 
enough before. But now to know that she 
might be defrauding her sister’s husband on the 
one hand, and to picture Deborah’s indigna- 


214 Polly's Secret 

tion if William Train returned on the other, 
made the matter far worse. She was tempted 
to drag the bandbox from beneath the seat, 
and present the leather case then and there as 
a wedding gift in advance. 

Deborah took little notice of her sister, only 
inquiring of Enoch if he had told Polly, and 
appearing quite satisfied with his reply that 
Polly was surprised. Polly felt a little thrill 
of gratitude at his reticence, and hoped she 
might some time grow to like him better. 

She leaped from the wagon at the tavern 
door without waiting for assistance, and possess- 
ing herself of box and bag, carried them up to 
her room. At the first opportunity she tucked 
the leather case back in its old hiding place, 
fervently hoping that William Train would 
come before Deborah’s marriage. Then she 
went down to the kitchen, where Jane and 
Sarah, who were preparing supper, eagerly 
engaged her attention on the topic of the day. 

“It’s an interestin’ subject and worthy of 
considerable conversin’,” said Jane. “ But we 


Polly's Secret 215 

ain’t said much about it all day, for Drusy ’s 
been here most of the time, and we don’t feel 
free to talk over family matters before her.” 

“What aggrevates me most,” said Sarah, 
“ is that Sam Grimes has made her believe he 
knew all about it beforehand, and you ’d think 
to hear her talk she ’d been connected with 
the tavern all her life. I’m free to confess 
that I was beat ; and when I do get taken by 
surprise, I ain’t above ownin’ it.” 

“ Do you know when the wedding will be, 
Jane ? ” asked Polly. 

“ For the land sake, ain’t they told you 
that ? It ’s set for October. As I under- 
stand it, Mr. Train hung on for September, and 
Deb’ rah, knowin’ she never could get ready so 
soon, was bound to put it off till November, 
so they split the difference. And if I ain’t 
mistaken in readin’ their two characters, 
they ’ll be apt to go on splittin’ the diff’rence 
throughout their married life. They ’re both 
of ’em that set not to give in more ’n halfway ; 
and his politeness, which Deb’rah ’ll soon catch 


2 1 6 Polly's Secret 

— there ’s nothin’ any more catchin’ than 
manners — will compel ’em to give in some.” 

“ Things happen strange,” moralized Sarah, 
who had never quite become reconciled to 
Jane’s relinquishment of Sam. “ Six months 
ago who ’d believed Deborah ’d be plannin’ to 
marry and Jane be settled down to be an old 
maid ? The workin’s of Providence is beyond 
me.” 

“ For goodness sake, Sarah Gale,” ejaculated 
Jane, “ don’t go to burdenin’ Providence with 
all the matrimonial responsibilities. That ’s 
goin’ a step too far.” 


CHAPTER XV 


T HE following weeks brought con- 
tinual excitement to the tavern. 
Enoch’s brief visit was followed by 
preparations for the marriage. Quilts and 
blankets, pillows and sheets, were shaken out 
of the chest, where they had been accumu- 
lating since Deborah’s babyhood. Stores of 
the finest linen and most delicate embroidery 
were collected. Landlord Brooks, declaring 
that Debby should have a fitting out which 
would make a good showing among her new 
city collections, made a trip to Augusta, pur- 
chasing silks and thibets with a reckless dis- 
regard of cost. Two Bloomfield dressmakers 
and one from Milburn took up their residence 
at the tavern. Deborah, serene, well satisfied, 
was everywhere superintending and suggesting, 
looking carefully after Susan Briggs that she 


2 1 8 Polly's Secret 

cut the brown silk savingly, watching Elmira 
Dean lest her stitches show in the hemming. 
Polly Jane would have been in her element — 
for nothing delighted her more than the ex- 
citement of preparation — but for the dread 
of complications in which Deborah’s marriage 
might involve her. She resolutely put it 
aside at last, wisely determining not to let 
the possible clouds of to-morrow shadow her 
to-day. And though closer acquaintance with 
Enoch Train failed to remove the old distrust, 
yet mature reflection showed her the folly of 
betraying it. She therefore entered upon a 
course of calm neutrality toward him, which 
Deborah with approval mistook for deference. 
Enoch himself, ascribing Polly’s dislike to 
caprice, apparently forgot it entirely. Deb- 
orah found, somewhat to her surprise, that 
her sister’s fingers had grown skilful under 
Miss Huldah’s patient tuition, and to Polly’s 
delight much of the fine needlework was en- 
trusted to her care. With a feeling that her 
careful stitches would in part atone for the 


219 


Polly's Secret 

secret which might some day work havoc in 
the Train family, she wrought early and late, 
giving all her spare time out of school to 
Deborah’s work ; for Polly was still in school, 
notwithstanding that many Bloomfield par- 
ents had fulfilled Master Tompkins’ prediction 
and withdrawn their daughters, arguing that 
an educated man like the minister knew 
what was best for young people. Master 
Tompkins had not taken it kindly. True to 
his word, he had appeared in the Bloomfield 
“ Chronicle ” denouncing the Parson’s opinions 
in terms of scathing sarcasm ; and the Parson, 
long forewarned, had replied in terms no less 
sarcastic, if less scathing. Master Tompkins, 
now considering the matter had become per- 
sonal, came out again in a bitter attack on 
Parson Pratt, questioning his intellectual at- 
tainments. To which the Parson retaliated 
in a most scholarly article wherein four- 
syllabled words predominated, and which of 
itself was abundant evidence that Master 
Tompkins’ criticism was groundless. 


220 Polly's Secret 

By this time the editor of the u Chronicle/’ 
being a conservative man who loved peace 
and reverenced the clergy, decided that the 
matter had gone far enough, and declined to 
publish Master Tompkins’ third effort. And 
that gentleman, not to be thus easily sup- 
pressed, carefully wrote out fifty copies of the 
letter and distributed them among the leading 
citizens. The minister was urged by his 
friends to reply to this from his pulpit, but 
steadily refused. “ For why should I use the 
pulpit of the Lord’s house to advocate my 
personal opinions ? ” he said ; and to the dis- 
appointment of all Bloomfield, who had 
greatly enjoyed the war of intellects, he 
allowed the matter to drop so far as he was 
concerned. 

Master Tompkins, injured beyond repara- 
tion, not only ceased his subscription to the 
“ Chronicle,” but sold his pew in the Orthodox 
church, and went across to the Baptist fold, 
whereupon Deacon Locke, who had hitherto 
held carefully aloof from the controversy, and 


221 


Polly's Secret 

in spite of the minister’s opinions, sent his 
daughters regularly to school, now withdrew 
all his children from the Academy ; and 
others, who had been waiting to “see what 
Deacon Locke would do,” followed his ex- 
ample without delay. So the flourishing 
school dwindled to a mere handful ; but 
through it all Polly continued a regular at- 
tendant. For in anticipating an easy victory, 
she had not counted on a new element in the 
family opinion. Mr. Brooks’s confidence in 
his prospective son-in-law was unbounded, 
and Enoch’s decided, “ I should certainly 
keep Polly in school another year,” had out- 
weighed all her arguments. Polly privately 
determined not to study at all, and then, 
becoming interested in the lessons, forgot her 
determination. Master Tompkins’s respectful 
manner to her as the oldest young lady in 
school, went far toward soothing her ruffled 
dignity, and though she missed Esther, Re- 
becca, and the Locke girls, the position was 
not so unpleasant as she had feared. Unite, 


222 


Polly's Secret 

who was preparing for college, was still in 
school, and several new pupils from out of 
town entered in the early autumn. Parson 
Pratt, as a partial compensation for his 
daughter’s disappointment, sent her on a long 
visit to Boston. Esther, though free from 
school, was kept closely at home by an illness 
of her mother, and Kezia Locke privately 
confessed to Polly that she preferred school 
under a Baptist master to spinning and weav- 
ing all day. So there was little sympathy to 
be secured either at home or abroad. Even 
Deborah, who disliked books and had herself 
left school at fourteen, sharply rebuked 
Polly’s complaints and advised her to get 
learning while she could. “ I half wish I’d 
gone a little longer myself now,” she acknowl- 
edged, in a manner strangely foreign to 
Deborah. “ There ’s a good deal Enoch talks 
about that ’s nothing but Greek and Hebrew 
to me.” 

The weeks flew by and ere long the mild 
haze of September gave way to the clear crisp 


Polly's Secret 223 

air of October. The woods again put on their 
brilliant autumn shades. The tavern was in 
a state of commotion as the wedding-day ap- 
proached. Polly stayed from school to assist 
in preparations whose magnificence far outdid 
those of a year ago. Landlord Brooks, declar- 
ing that one fuss of a kind would do, decided 
to omit the annual ball, and “put all the 
work into the wedding." Drusy came over 
every day to help. Sarah and Jane were 
deep in cooking and cleaning, Mrs. Brooks 
fluttered anxiously from chamber to kitchen, 
unable to settle to any definite employment. 
Even Sam grew excited as the time drew 
near; but Deborah, calm as ever, superin- 
tended and directed still, instructing Sarah 
about the wedding-cake, planning extra room 
in the stable for the guests' horses, and re- 
trimming the wedding bonnet, which, coming 
from Augusta at the last minute, proved un- 
satisfactory. 

“ Deborah beats all," Drusy said admiringly ; 
“ when I was married I was completely flus- 


224 Polly's Secret 

trated and couldn’t even get my bonnet on 
straight, much less trim it.” 

“ Deborah’s got faculty,” replied Sarah 
shortly, a little indignant that Drusy should 
compare her own simple marriage to this 
grand affair. 

But Drusy took no offence. 

“ Livin’ right in the house with you and 
Jane ’s a great help to her,” she said. And 
Sarah, mollified by the compliment, acknowl- 
edged that people who were n’t so capable 
were easier to live with. 

It was a great wedding. The tavern was 
filled with Mr. Train’s friends and relatives 
from Falmouth, and the richest of brocades 
and satins rustled over the oaken stairs. Mrs. 
Brooks, half in awe of these stylish city peo- 
ple, found her duties as hostess most arduous, 
and not all Deborah’s calm assurances and 
Enoch’s tact could put her at ease. 

“For all my dreading to lose Deborah, I 
shall be thankful when it’s over,” she con- 
fessed to Polly, who, with strong young arms 


Polly's Secret 225 

about her mother, promised that she would 
never bother her with a grand wedding, or 
any kind of a wedding, for that matter. Mrs. 
Brooks smiled a little to herself, but said 
nothing. 

It was Deborah who arranged the parlor 
for the wedding and put the finishing touches 
to the long supper-table, reluctantly yielding 
the reins of government into Jane's hands 
only when it was time to go and dress. The 
city relatives looked on in some amusement, 
and Polly heard a thin lady with a hooked 
nose murmur to a pretty dark-eyed girl — 
cousins they were in some remote degree — 

“ What an energetic wife Enoch will have. 
She would be well fitted for a poorer man," 
to which the other replied lightly : “ She may 
find use for her energy yet. Riches have 
been known to take wings. And it is by no 
means certain, you know, that William Train 
may not return." 

Interest in the last remark drove from 
Polly's head the rising anger which the criti- 

15 


226 Polly's Secret 

cism had aroused. She drew nearer to the 
dark-eyed girl, wishing she dared question 
her. But the two, noticing Polly, had changed 
the subject. 

The younger Train brother, whom Polly 
disliked a degree less than Enoch because he 
was far less agreeable, served as best man. 
Polly, herself in the blue brocade and satin 
slippers, was bridesmaid, and quite as much 
admired as the bride in her stiff brown silk. 
Polly privately decided that if she ever should 
change her mind and marry, she would wear 
white. For Deborah’s country-made dress, 
though of rich material, lacked the stylish air 
of the city toilets around it. She noticed the 
hook-nosed woman observe it critically as she 
kissed Deborah and called her, her dear new 
cousin. 

Then followed the wedding-supper, where 
Polly sat stiffly among the bridal party and 
wished she were down at the lower table at 
which Unite and a bevy of Brooks cousins 
were enjoying themselves. The younger 


Polly's Secret 227 

Train was far more interested in his supper 
than in Polly, and confined his remarks to 
asking her if it was n’t lonesome living here 
all the year round, and whether the Indians 
were troublesome. To which Polly, who had 
never seen an Indian in her life, maintained a 
contemptuous silence. A little later, when he 
rose to make a speech, and referred frequently 
to the fair vale of the Kennebec from which 
the war-whoop of the Indian had but recently 
died away, Polly perceived that he was mak- 
ing fun of her native place. 

“ Did you know ? ” she inquired, as he 
took his seat again, “that the turkeys we 
had for supper were raised in Bloomfield ? ” 

The young man looked at her in some 
amusement. The little country girl had a 
voice then, after all, and, as might have been 
expected, a mind that rose no higher than the 
table. 

“Indeed,” he said, the corners of his lips 
curling. “How interesting!” 

“ Yes,” replied Polly, sweetly. “ You 


228 Polly's Secret 

seemed to have so much respect for the 
turkeys I knew it would increase your re- 
spect for the town to know they were native 
productions.” 

Abner Train colored. He had flattered 
himself that his hits at Bloomfield were too 
subtle for native shrewdness. They had 
been intended solely for the amusement of 
the city friends. This little girl was brighter 
than he had thought, and, being so, began 
to be interesting. He made an attempt to 
draw her out. But Polly, having relieved 
her mind, had nothing more to say, and 
when they rose from the table after the 
speeches were ended, gladly made her es- 
cape. 

She heard Enoch taking his brother to 
task, somewhat sharply, after supper. 

“I certainly didn’t bring you here to in- 
sult my wife’s townsmen,” he said indig- 
nantly. And Abner, who plainly stood in 
awe of his brother, replied sullenly that he 
didn’t suppose they would see the joke. 


Polly's Secret 229 

The sound of two violins drew them all 
away to the dancing hall, where Polly 
danced to her heart’s content. Only now 
and then a strain of music brought back 
that dreary night of a year ago, and made 
her wish again that the name of Train had 
never been known in Bloomfield. 

Polly was passing through the deserted 
parlor, on an errand for her mother, when 
Abner Train accosted her. 

“ Say,” he said, “ you don’t really have any 
idea what ever became of those papers now, do 
you ? ’T would do me good to find them after 
Enoch has hunted all this time and could n’t.” 

“ What papers ? ” inquired Polly, to gain 
time. 

“ Why, my uncle’s papers, of course. You 
must remember.” 

“ Oh yes,” Polly wrinkled her pretty brows. 
“ There ’s just one thing I don’t believe they 
have thought of,” she continued slowly. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Abner eagerly, ready 
to catch at any new suggestion. 


230 Polly' s Secret 

“ Perhaps the Indians took them the last 
time they raided the town,” returned Polly, 
vanishing through the doorway before he 
could frame another question, and quite sure 
that Abner Train would question her no 
more. 

It was over at last. In the morning sun- 
shine the coaches rolled away from the door 
bearing Deborah to her new home and all 
the city company with her. 

“ I ’m mighty glad it ’s over,” declared 
Jane, voicing the family sentiment, — while 
Sam, whose democratic principles had been 
trampled into the ground by aristocratic feet, 
shook his head in token that words were 
inadequate to express what he felt. 

The tavern seemed strange without Deborah, 
who had been its life, and Polly found herself 
day by day fitting into the vacant place and 
becoming the trusted adviser of both her 
parents. The privileges and dignity of the 
eldest daughter fell to her share. It was 
very pleasant to go out and give directions 


2 3 I 


Polly's Secret 

about dinner, even though they usually con- 
sisted of permission for Sarah to do as she 
pleased. And when her father appealed 
helplessly for advice about the rooms, Polly 
always found it necessary to consult Sam 
before replying. 

Deborah’s rare letters were filled with 
descriptions of her new home and stories of 
the people whom she met. Polly sometimes 
wondered if Deborah could be quite happy, 
after all, the new life was so different from 
the old. And not only Enoch’s friends but 
Enoch himself seemed to belong to a different 
world than Bloomfield. 

And now came long, quiet weeks, filled 
with the little occurrences that make up a 
life of content. Polly kept on at school, 
though school was by this time sadly un- 
popular. Winter brought parties and singing 
school. The Daughters of Temperance had 
not survived the summer heat. Rebecca Pratt 
returned home from Boston full of stories of 
the city, to which Polly loved to listen. 


232 Polly's Secret 

“ You make me see things, Rebecca/’ Polly 
said one day as she listened to Rebecca’s 
description of Bunker Hill. “ I believe you 
could write a book if you tried.” 

Rebecca colored. “ I used to wish I might,” 
she acknowledged regretfully. “ And that 
was one reason I felt so badly to leave school. 
But I found out afterwards that my father 
does n’t approve of women writers. He 
thinks it very presuming for a woman to 
try and write.” 

Polly looked doubtful. With all her rev- 
erence for Parson Pratt, she felt the injustice 
he displayed toward her sex. She led cau- 
tiously around to the subject, the next time 
she called on the Misses Putnam. Surely 
educated ladies like these would prove the 
champions of their sex. But to her dis- 
appointment they quite agreed with the 
minister. 

“ Women cannot be too careful, my dear,” 
Miss Miriam said primly. “ And a woman’s 
place is not in public or in print.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


U NITE was still Polly’s devoted 
cavalier and perfectly at home in 
the tavern, where he was popular 
with old and young. 

“ He ’s the first boy I ever see grow up,” 
declared Jane, “who didn’t have a hateful 
time between twelve and twenty. He never 
sees a thing waitin’ to be done without takin’ 
right hold. Ketch him waitin’ to be asked 
three times for a turn o’ water.” This last 
in a significant tone accompanied by a wither- 
ing look at Sam, who, thus reminded of 
his delinquencies, took up the pails and 
disappeared. 

But Unite was not without difficulties of 
his own. In the days when a man’s wealth 
usually consisted of land and cattle, failures 
were rare. So when the news that Squire 


234 Polly's Secret 

Bodwell had failed was announced, there was 
great excitement throughout Bloomfield and 
Milburn. Unite himself brought the news to 
the tavern and told it leaning against the 
kitchen sink, his hands buried deep in his 
pockets — a token, not of idleness, but of 
thought. Sympathy was not lacking among 
his audience. 

“ I don’t care for the money,” Unite said, 
with the contempt of youth. “ If that was 
all I ’d just like to go ahead and work my 
way through college. But this being an only 
child puts a fellow in a hard place. My 
father ’s all broken down and he just can’t 
spare me. And the thing that wants to be 
done most just now is to pay the mortgage 
ofi the farm. I guess I ’ll be a farmer instead 
of a lawyer.” 

“ And a much honester callin’ it is,” put in 
Jane. “ I s’pose it ’s a feelin’ that come down 
from our English forefathers, but I can’t help 
havin’ more respect for a man that lives on 
his own land.” 


Polly's Secret 235 

“ Even if it ’s covered by a mortgage ? ” sug- 
gested Unite. 

“ The mortgage won’t stand much show 
with you behind it,” replied Jane. 

Unite’s figure straightened. “ I don’t mean 
it shall,” he answered. “ I don’t care much 
for myself. To tell the truth I never had any 
great drawing towards college, though I never 
said so when I thought I was going. But 
father’s a good deal disappointed of course. 
He had an idea I was cut out for a second 
Patrick Henry. But he’d been more disap- 
pointed later on. I believe I ’d rather be a 
first-class farmer than a second-class lawyer.” 

“ Just so, my boy,” exclaimed Mr. Brooks 
heartily, for by this time the entire family 
had gathered in the kitchen. “ That ’s the way 
to talk ; go ahead and when you want a lift 
anywhere, whether it ’s money or land or 
whatsoever, just call on John Brooks and you 
can have it. Your father gave me more ’n 
one push when I started in here without a 
dollar, and I ain’t the man to forget it. 


236 Polly's Secret 

Though, for that matter, you ’d be welcome on 
your own account.” 

Unite thanked him with a little quiver in 
his voice. He was but a boy after all. And 
declining an urgent invitation to supper, 
though Mrs. Brooks hinted there were buck- 
wheat cakes, he turned to go. Polly followed 
him to the door a little shyly. Someway, this 
Unite seemed years older and graver than her 
playfellow of yesterday. 

" I would n’t mind, Unite,” she said, long- 
ing to give him a word of comfort. “ Aunt 
Buth says the only place where a man can 
do his best is in doing his duty.” Unite took 
off: his cap. 

“God helping me that’s what I mean to 
do,” he said solemnly. They lingered in 
silence for a moment. Then Unite’s mood 
suddenly changed. “ Run in, Polly, or you ’ll 
get cold,” he commanded, and when Polly 
lingered, emphasized his order with a well- 
aimed snowball that passed over her head. 

Polly promptly retaliated in kind, and 


Polly's Secret 237 

Unite departed amid a shower of snowballs 
and a chorus of laughter. 

“ Guess Unite ain’t takin’ it very serious 
after all,” remarked Sarah ; but Jane shook 
her head. 

“ He would n’t be laughin’ and jokin’ if he 
wa’n’t serious,” was her contradictory reply. 
“ Unite ain’t the boy to fool when he ’s worry- 
in’ and stewin’ over anything. It ’s jest 
because he ’s made up his mind and got the 
thing settled, that he can laugh.” 

With the winter term, Master Tompkins 
resigned his position at the academy and 
returned to his farm, and Polly’s school days 
ended with that event. The trustees of the 
Academy, after long deliberation, engaged a 
young man from Bowdoin for the summer 
term, — a very young man, though the specta- 
cles he wore for his weak eyes gave him a look 
of dignity. He boarded at the tavern, but the 
family saw little of him, for all his time out 
of school was spent in study that he might 
keep pace with his college class. 


238 Polly's Secret 

With the early spring came great changes. 
For Sam, having accumulated sufficient funds 
to purchase a fine farm on the river road, 
resigned his various positions at the tavern 
and moved away from the little house across 
the street. It was found necessary to engage 
two men in his place. Jane’s brother Hiram 
came to take charge of the outdoor work and 
“ house chores” and a young man was 
imported from “ down river ” who condescen- 
ded to fill the position of clerk. This young 
man, Ezra Perkins by name, had black curly 
hair, which he wore long, and soon became a 
great favorite in Bloomfield society. 

“He ’s certainly stylish ,' ” acknowledged 
Jane, with whom Ezra was no favorite. “ But 
it ’s no such a style as Deb’rah’s husband.” 

Landlord Brooks missed Sam badly. 

“ Hiram and Ezry ’s both good boys and 
willing,” he said dejectedly. “But Sam was 
an all-round man, and always knew just what 
to do better than I did myself.” 

Truth to tell, Landlord Brooks hated re- 


Polly's Secret 239 

sponsibility and preferred driving about the 
country, looking after the various enterprises 
in which he was interested, to attending to 
the details of tavern-keeping. 

“ Never mind, father,” Polly said assuring- 
ly. “I’ll help Ezra when you want to go 
away.” And Ezra, who had much respect 
and admiration for his employer’s daughter, 
carried out her instructions faithfully. But 
even then things failed to go smoothly. Sam 
roared with laughter when he heard of the 
Judge on his way to Court at Norridgewock, 
being put in the back hall bedroom, while a 
pack peddler occupied the north-west chamber. 

“ I don’t care,” Polly answered, resenting 
the laughter. “ The Judge was a much 
younger man than the peddler. And I 
thought, Sam, that you didn’t believe in 
aristocracy.” 

“ No more I don’t,’’ replied Sam, serious, 
now that his principles were called in ques- 
tion. “ But this business of tavern-keepin’ 
is complicated, and principles don’t always 


240 


Polly's Secret 

a pply. The longer you live in this world, 
Polly, the more you ’ll find out principle has 
got to be sacrificed to policy, without you 
want the whole Court stoppin’ over to 
Milburn.” 

Alarmed at such a prospect, Polly listened 
willingly to Sam’s instructions, and took the 
list which he obligingly made out for her 
guidance, with possible guests and rooms to 
which each might safely be assigned. Sam 
was a frequent visitor at the tavern, dropping 
in whenever business brought him to store or 
mill. Drusy came rarely. For with the 
early summer came a baby Grimes, who de- 
manded her attention at home. Polly and 
Jane rode down to the farm sometimes on 
pleasant afternoons. The baby thrived 
wonderfully and displayed new accomplish- 
ments at every visit. 

“ He ’s a remarkably forward child for ten 
weeks,” Sam declared, and Drusy asked Jane 
in an anxious aside if she did n’t think he 
was too smart. a These over-bright children 


241 


Polly's Secret 

are apt to have something happen to them.” 
But Jane, whose experience with nine younger 
brothers and sisters had fitted her to judge of 
such matters, saw nothing phenomenal in 
this auburn-haired scion of the house of 
Grimes, and reassured the anxious mother. 
Drusy herself was looking thin and pale. 
Farm life evidently did not agree with her. 

“ It ain’t like the village,” she acknowl- 
edged. “ Though it ’s altogether cheaper 
livin’ on a farm.” 

They saw little of Unite that summer. He 
was working hard, and had no time for loaf- 
ing about the tavern kitchen as on former 
days. 

Sarah commented frequently in regretful 
tones on the changes of the past year. “ Who 
ever would have thought of it ? ” she was 
wont to say with a shake of the head, but 
Jane always stopped her. 

“For the land’s sake, Sarah Gale, let the 
earth turn on its axis, and don’t be forever 
tryin’ to stop it. There ain’t but one law of 
16 


242 Polly's Secret 

progress, so far as I know, and that ’s by 
changes.” 

Deborah had planned a visit home in the 
autumn, but Enoch took her instead on a long 
visit to Boston and New York. Deborah, 
from all accounts, was growing a fine lady in 
these days. At Christmas there came a large 
oil painting of her in rich silks and jewels. 

“ Our Debby ’s a grand lady,” her father 
said admiringly, estimating with satisfaction 
the probable cost of the dress she wore. But 
Mrs. Brooks, with a mother’s instinct, saw only 
the face of her daughter. 

“ Somehow there ’s a change in her,” she 
said half wistfully. “ But she looks well and 
contented.” 

The days went on, making weeks, the 
weeks grew into months, the months into one 
year and then another — years that brought 
little change to the old Bloomfield tavern. 
Hiram, after twelve months’ service, had an 
attack of Ohio fever and went west, be- 


243 


Polly's Secret 

queathing his position to his younger brother 
Joel, — Jane declaring there were Gales enough 
to supply the tavern with help for years 
to come. Ezra remained, and in due time 
developed into a successful tavernkeeper, in- 
troducing several modern innovations that 
aroused Sam’s scornful criticism. 

“ S’pose he thinks them bells is a great 
improvement over the time when lodgers 
used to holler over the stairs to tell what 
they wanted,” grumbled Sam. “ But I can 
tell him the old way was surer and saved a 
heap of work.” 

Deborah had been home twice, and the 
father and mother had been once to visit her, 
returning much impressed by Deborah’s fine 
house, her well-trained servants, her carriage 
and her friends. But not all Deborah’s 
entreaties nor her husband’s arguments could 
persuade Polly to visit them. Never, she 
felt, while she guarded those papers, could 
she partake of Enoch Train’s hospitality. 

Polly was nineteen, and a woman now. At 


244 Polly's Secret 

some mysterious point in the years unnoticed 
even by herself, she had left the child Polly 
behind her. To be sure, much of the wisdom 
which was to have come with womanhood, 
was wanting still. She smiled wisely some- 
times at her old childish ignorance and set 
the period for decision a few years farther on. 

“When I am twenty-five,’ ’ she argued, “I 
shall know better what to do.” 

So the dust gathered thickly over the 
leather case in its hiding-place and the lost 
papers would have been forgotten, had not 
Deborah on her visits home regretted their 
loss and lamented the business perplexities in 
which Enoch became from time to time in- 
volved for want of them — though even 
Deborah had long since given up hope of their 
recovery. 


CHAPTER XVII 


P OLLY came home one afternoon from 
a visit to the Taylor farm. It had 
been a longer visit than usual, for she 
had gone to attend Maria’s wedding and after 
it was over and the young couple gone to their 
new home, Polly must stay to keep Aunt Ruth 
company for a few days. Friend Taylor and 
his wife had given their adopted daughter to 
her steady young Quaker with open rejoicing. 

“Not that I hold marriage the end and 
aim of a woman’s life,” Aunt Ruth explained 
to Polly; “but thee knows that Maria had 
neither kith nor kin of her own, and even 
our adopting her could not make it right, for 
strangers were always asking questions, and 
the story always came out. But marriage 
covers all that. And Penuel has a large fam- 
ily of relatives to make up for Maria’s lack 


246 Polly' s Secret 

of them. Yes, Maria was a good daughter 
to us; but thee will understand me, and I 
can say to thee what I have not said to any 
one else. An adopted child can never be like 
one’s own flesh and blood. Thee knows, my 
dear, that the fairest and brightest of chil- 
dren are the ones that were never born ; so I 
could never give Maria quite the place that 
my own daughter might have had. But we 
shall miss her sadly all the same, and thy 
mother must spare thee to us as much as pos- 
sible.” 

So Polly’s visit had lengthened to nearly 
two weeks ; the longest time she had ever 
been absent from home. And to tell the 
truth, she was not sorry when old Reuben, 
grown fatter and lazier with increasing age, 
drew up to the tavern door. Polly felt dis- 
appointed to learn that her father and mother 
had gone to Norridgewock. 

Jane, wearing a look of melancholy import- 
ance, sat in the east window, and Polly’s 
swift eyes noted that she was retrimming her 


Polly's Secret 247 

summer bonnet, removing the pink roses and 
green ribbon, with a care which betrayed in- 
tention of future use, and replacing them by 
black ribbon, alternated with folds of crape. 

“ What are you doing that for, Jane ? ” in- 
quired Polly, with sudden foreboding. 

Jane held the bonnet off at arm's length, 
and tried the effect of a crape bow before re- 
plying. 

“ I don’t know but what the bow looks 
frivolous, but it’s tastier,” she murmured 
doubtfully. Polly repeated her question a 
little impatiently. Jane sighed. 

“ What does folks generally put on black 
for ? ” she inquired with some sarcasm, “ pink 
roses ain’t quite the thing for a funeral, par- 
ticularly where you ’re so peculiarly con- 
nected with the deceased.” 

"Is it one of your relations, Jane?” per- 
sisted Polly, reflecting with relief that her 
parents would hardly be away on a pleasure 
trip were it anyone intimately connected with 
the Brooks family. 


248 Polly's Secret 

Jane sighed again, and held a piece of 
ribbon up to the light. 

“Well, not to say relation exactly/’ she 
replied slowly ; “ though for that matter, I ’ve 
got ties of blood that might have been broke 
and not upset me so. But as I said, I’ve 
been peculiarly connected first and last, and 
I ’m free to confess I wa’n’t lookin’ for it, 
though there ’s them that says they ain’t a 
mite surprised. I ’m sure I don’t know what 
’ll be done now, and though I ain’t really to 
blame, still there ’s a kind of a responsible feel- 
in’ that won’t let me get ’em off my mind.” 

“ Jane Gale,” interrupted Polly, “ will you 
tell me who ’s dead ? ” 

Jane, cut short in her soliloquy, pursed her 
lips with an offended air. 

“ I was cornin’ to that,” she said. “ I ain’t 
one of the kind that believes in firin’ bad 
news like cannon-balls. But since you will 
have it, why Sam Grimes — ” just at this 
interesting point Jane paused to bite off a 
needleful of thread. 


249 


Polly's Secret 

“ Is Sam dead ? ” inquired Polly in a 
shocked tone. 

“ No, he ain’t,” snapped Jane, now thor- 
oughly indignant. “ He ’s a widower, that ’s 
all. I was workin’ up to tell the whole thing 
jest as it happened. If there ’s anything I 
hate, it’s to give the kernel of a piece of 
news and then have to go back and rehearse 
the particulars.” 

However, with a little urging, Jane was 
not unwilling to relate the details of the 
story, which, sifted from speculation and com- 
ment, was simple and sad enough. Drusy 
had died of lung fever after an illness of 
only a week. 

“ They come for me in the beginnin’ and I 
was with her to the last,” said Jane. “ She 
did n’t seem to sense much about dyin’ or 
anything else, though once or twice she spoke 
about the children. Drusy never was very 
deep, though, poor thing, she ’s gone now. If 
I ’d been leavin’ them three children to the 
mercies of the world and the judgment of 


250 Polly's Secret 

Sam Grimes, I don’t think I could of smiled 
and repeated poetry. But there, she ’s prob’ly 
wiser now. Most the last words she said, 
was to ask Sam if it would n’t be best to 
bury her down there in the old buryin’- 
ground. I knew she was plannin’ to save 
expense, and I spoke right up and said ’twas 
expensive diggin’ down there. Up here, bein’ 
sandy, it don’t cost much. May I be for- 
given if I turn out to be wrong about it. 
But Drusy ’s always been homesick down 
there, and I was bound she should n’t stay 
there just for the sake of savin’ a few dollars. 
So Sam ’s chosen a place up here for her, or 
rather I chose it for him. For he ’s kind of 
dazed and don’t seem to know what to do. 
I ’ve had all the responsibility so fur.” She 
twirled the completed bonnet on two fingers 
as she spoke. 

“ I don’t know but the crape makes it too 
deep for the connection,” she said, “but 
’t was some your ma give me when she went 
out of mournin’ for your Aunt Abby. I ’ve 


251 


Polly's Secret 

saved it all these years for some occasion, 
and bein’ short of ribbon, I thought I ’d use 
it now to save buyin’ new. It didn’t seem 
wise to go to any expense, for I don’t calcu- 
late to mourn very long anyway.” 

“ Here comes Sam now,” announced Polly, 
anxious to cut short Jane’s remarks, before 
his entrance. 

“Yes, I promised to fix the weed on his 
hat,” replied Jane. “ I ’ve saved a piece of 
the crape on purpose.” 

So Jane superintended Drusy’s funeral, as 
she had her marriage, looking carefully after 
every detail, “ just as she would have wanted 
done by her,” and after it was all over, ad- 
vised Sam in engaging an elderly woman, 
who agreed “ to stop a spell.” 

“ I ’m glad that ’s settled,” Jane remarked 
to Sarah. “Though I can’t feel’s if ’twas 
off my mind yet. I keep thinkin’ about them 
three children. Drusy was a good mother 
to ’em, and never seemed to have a thought 
outside of ’em. And no housekeeper ’s goin’ 


252 P oily' s Secret 

to do by her children as she did. Moreover, 
the time ’s comin , when somebody ’s got to 
pick out a second wife for him. And, land 
knows, Sam Grimes alone would be hard 
enough to dispose of, but when it comes to 
three children — well, there ! ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A UTUMN came and passed again. 

/ % The snows of another winter 
1 m drifted around Bloomfield tavern. 
Early in January Rebecca Pratt was married 
to a young Connecticut minister, who was a 
remote family connection. Rebecca had first 
met him while on a visit to her Boston rela- 
tives. It was a very quiet wedding with 
only Polly and a few other intimate friends 
as guests. And Rebecca departed in a blind- 
ing snowstorm for her new home. Parson 
Pratt parted with his only child regretfully. 
“ Though I could ask nothing better for 
Rebecca,” he declared, “than to follow in 
her mother's footsteps — a counsellor and 
helpmeet for one of the Lord’s servants.” 

Polly could n’t help feeling a little sorry 
for Rebecca that she had elected to go on 


254 Polly’s Secret 

serving as a parish pattern all her life. But 
when she hinted something of the kind, Re- 
becca laughed merrily, and together they re- 
called the red silk dress which was wanting 
among the wedding finery. 

“ Charles does n’t regard things just as my 
father does,” Rebecca said seriously. “ And 
though my father regrets it, he has told me 
that it will be my duty to conform my opin- 
ions to my husband’s. So Charles says we 
will read and study together. But as for 
being a parish pattern, Polly, it had better be 
me than some poor girl who has never been 
used to it.” 

Hardly had public interest in Rebecca’s 
marriage died away, when it was again 
aroused by the approaching wedding of 
Esther Dascomb. Polly was a little reproach- 
ful when Esther confided to her, her engage- 
ment to a young Milburn grocer. 

“ You always had a weakness for Milburn 
people, Esther,” she said. 

But Esther who believed her John far 


Polly's Secret 255 

superior to any young man in Bloomfield, 
declared the rivalry between the two towns a 
silly notion and insisted it was dying out. 
“John says it will be one town some day,” 
she concluded triumphantly. 

Esther's wedding was a great contrast to 
Rebecca's ; for the Dascombs were expected 
to do everything on a grand scale and seldom 
failed to surpass all expectations. Polly, in 
spite of her disapproval, consented to act as 
bridesmaid, though Jane warned her it must 
be for the last time. “ Thrice a bridesmaid 
never a bride.” 

“ I don't mind,” replied Polly with superb 
indifference. “ I 'd rather be the bridesmaid 
than the bride any time. Only I wish all 
the girls would n't get married at once. 
Married people are so taken up with each 
other, I sha'n’t have any friends left.” 

“ I calculate you ’re sure of the Miss Put- 
nams a spell longer,” remarked Jane. 

“And you,” suggested Polly. Jane looked 
a little embarrassed. 


256 Polly's Secret 

“ Well, I don’t know,” she said hesitatingly. 
“ I may decide to change my lot and place 
yet.” But though Polly questioned with some 
curiosity, she declined to say more. 

It was weeks later that Polly learned the 
meaning of Jane’s remark, and then Sarah, 
not Jane enlightened her. 

“It makes me provoked,” scolded Sarah, 
one day when a party had arrived after 
dinner was over, “ to think Jane would n’t 
have Sam Grimes when he was here to the 
tavern a-makin’ good wages and free as air. 
But now he ’s down there on that farm, 
where there ’s work enough for two able- 
bodied women, and them three incumbrances, 
one of which is a teethin’ baby and the other 
two out of one piece of mischief into another 
— and here’s Jane up and consented to step- 
mother ’em.” 

Sarah emphasized her indignation by a 
thump on the bread she was kneading. 

Jane, busy at the sink, tossed her head 
defiantly. 


257 


Polly's Secret 

“ I believe it ’s a free country,” she said. 
“ And though I don't consider there ’s any 
explanation owin' anybody, I don’t mind 
sayin' to you, Polly, that a feelin' of responsi- 
bility is drivin' me to a step I had n’t thought 
to take. There 's no doubt but what I got 
Sam Grimes into all this trouble, marryin' 
him off to poor Drusy. And when he come 
around appealin' to me to pick him out a 
second, what could I do ? Nobody on earth 
would have taken him without they felt the 
call of duty. And rememberin’ how Drusy 
always depended on me, I know she ’d as 
lieves I 'd bring up her children as anybody. 
We sha’n’t be married for a spell yet. I 
calculate to wait until the grass grows on her 
grave, though Sam argues that it takes it a 
good while to get growin’ in that sandy soil. 
And, seein' the need of them children, I don’t 
see any call to wait longer ’n that.” 

u I ’m glad for the children,” Polly said 
heartily. “ For I know just what a good 
mother you '11 make them, Jane. But what- 
ever will we do without you here ? ” 

17 


258 Polly's Secret 

Jane strove to conceal her satisfaction by 
an air of humility. 

“ There ’s plenty better help than I be,” 
she said. “ But if you want to put up with 
another from the same family there ’s Mirindy 
and Mirandy. Mis’ Squire Dascomb has been 
wantin’ to get one of ’em, but they ’ve hung 
off, not wantin’ to be parted. But if the 
other could come here, ’t would jest suit ’em.” 

“ And I shall have nobody left but the two 
Misses Putnam. We ’ll be three old maids 
together,” mourned Polly, regardless of Jane’s 
incredulous “ h’mph ! ” 

And, indeed, a less careful observer than 
Jane might have displayed incredulity. For 
Polly was a winsome maiden on whom the 
youth of Bloomfield looked with admiring eyes. 
Her old playmate, Unite, had held aloof some- 
what in recent years. But there were plenty 
to take his place, all of whom Polly en- 
couraged or snubbed as suited her mood. 

“ Young men are not what they used to 
be,” Polly sagely confided to Jane. “ Where 


259 


Polly's Secret 

will you find one capable of making such a 
man as Deacon Locke or Parson Pratt ? ” 
But when Jane pointed triumphantly to Unite, 
claiming for him all the good qualities of both 
minister and deacon, Polly only changed the 
subject. 

It had been four years of dogged persever- 
ance to Unite. Full of discouragements at 
first, for Squire Bodwell with little confidence 
in his son's ability and no faith left in him- 
self, had done little to help. But after a 
time, seeing the effect of a strong young hand 
at the helm, he had aroused himself and 
seconded Unite’s efforts. With renewed 
health had come renewed ambitions, and the 
day Unite was twenty-one saw the last dollar 
of the debt paid. Squire Bodwell, still in the 
prime of life, could manage the farm hence- 
forth with hired help, and Unite was free to 
commence life for himself. Squire Bodwell 
deeded to his son all his outlying land near 
the townhouse, a part of it cleared and ready 
for cultivation. 


260 Polly's Secret 

“ It ’s no such start in life as I meant to 
give you, my boy,” the father said regretfully. 
But Unite declared himself fully satisfied. 
Free from debt and with his own two hands, 
his young ambition craved no greater privi- 
lege than to build a future for himself. 
Where, remained to be determined. 

Within a few months events proved that 
his father’s gift, was not so modest after all. 
For the town voted in the March town-meet- 
ing, to build a long-talked-of road over the 
hills, to accommodate the travel from the south 
part of the town. And to Squire Bodwell’s 
great delight, the road was located to pass 
through Unite’s woodland. The land, which 
had been practically without value, began to 
be sought as an enviable possession, and Unite 
received several offers, should he care to sell ; 
but he was thus far undecided. 

He came into the tavern kitchen one after- 
noon, quite in the old way, helping himself to 
doughnuts fresh from the boiling lard, and 
taking up his old position against the sink 
while he ate them. 


26 i 


Polly's Secret 

Sarah had gone home for a brief visit, leav- 
ing Jane in charge. “ For goodness knows 
when I can go again,” she mourned. “ I 
don’t think I shall feel free to leave things in 
Mirandy’s hands.” 

Jane was heartily glad to see Unite once 
more, and continued to press hot doughnuts 
upon him, while she went through for his 
benefit, with all that occurred since they last 
met. Polly, who had brought her sewing to 
the kitchen for the sake of Jane’s company, 
grew quiet and gave close attention to the 
work. 

“ What are you going to do next, Unite ? ” 
inquired Jane, when her own affairs were 
exhausted. 

“ I don’t quite know,” replied Unite slowly. 
“ Mother wants me to marry and settle down 
at home,” closely watching Polly, who bent 
over her work, apparently unheeding his words. 

“ But I’m thinking,” continued Unite, “of 
going out to Ohio.” 

Polly carefully measured off a length of 


262 Polly's Secret 

thread, and held her needle up to the light as 
she threaded it. 

“ I would n’t,” remonstrated Jane. “ It ’s 
terrible unhealthy there. Hiram ’s had 
fever ’n ague nine times in two years. Take 
my advice, Unite, and stay in a civilized 
country.” 

Unite changed his position to the table, 
whence he could command a better view of 
Polly. 

“What do you think of it, Polly?” he 
inquired, after a pause. 

“ Of what ? Ohio ? Why all I know about 
it is the little bit I learned in the United 
States Atlas at school,” replied Polly inno- 
cently; “and from Hiram’s letters to Jane, 
which you can remember better than I can. 
I think most likely Hiram, being homesick, 
doesn’t do the country justice.” 

“ They ’re mighty discouragin’, homesick 
or not homesick,” replied Jane. “ You might 
turn the thing round and say he was home- 
sick on account of shakin’ night and day. 


Polly's Secret 263 

You mark my words, Unite. The best thing 
you can do is to settle right down here in 
Bloomfield. Accordin’ to all accounts, that 
farm of yourn is goin’ to be one of the finest 
in the country a few years later on. If 
’twant for my own matrimonial prospects 
there ’s nothin’ I ’d like better than to pick 
out a wife to help you run it.” 

“I wish you could,” replied Unite gravely. 
“ But since you are too busy, and I don’t 
know how to go about it myself, I shall have 
to do without.” 

Polly’s eyes danced. “ Why if it ’s so seri- 
ous as that, Unite,” she said kindly, “ I ’ll 
advise you. Now there’s Susan Locke — ” 

Jane turned quickly from the frying-pan, a 
huge doughnut poised on her uplifted fork. 
“ Look here ! ” she said. “ It ’s none of my 
affair, and I don’t believe in meddlin’ with 
other folks’ concerns. But I’ve seen more of 
the world than you two have, and I ain’t goin’ 
to stand back and see you repeat a mistake 
that I’ve known to be made. When two 


264 Polly's Secret 

people ’s made for each other there ’s no sense 
in heatin’ round the bush. Now right here ’s 
the place where ’t would be polite for me to 
leave the room. But them doughnuts can’t 
be left. And maybe you ’ll remember, Polly, 
you promised to go over on the island this 
afternoon and get your ma some life-o’-man 
root. You ’d better go while Unite ’s here to 
carry the basket for you.” 

Polly, with glowing cheeks, would have 
refused; but Unite drew the work gently 
from her hands. 

“ Come, Polly,” he said. And Polly went. 

It was a golden afternoon on the river bank. 
The rustling oak leaves over their heads sang 
of joys past, present, and yet to come; and 
the river murmured a soft accompaniment. 
The world was made for only two. But as 
they went slowly homeward across the dusky 
bridge, a shadow crossed Polly’s bright face. 

“ Unite,” she said solemnly. “ Would you 
mind waiting for me, perhaps a great many 
years ? ” 


Polly's Secret 265 

Unite, it appeared, would mind it very 
much. In fact, he did n’t see any reason for 
waiting long. He had his little farm, and by 
another winter could have a house and barn 
built. Lumber was cheap, and he could do 
the work himself. They would be married 
in the spring. 

Polly sighed. 

“But, Unite,” she objected, “I believe 
there should be no secrets between people 
who marry, and there is something I cannot 
tell you.” 

The distance between them widened per- 
ceptibly as Unite answered in a chilling tone : 

“ Oh well, if there ’s some other fellow — ” 
Polly clasped her hands imploringly upon 
his arm. 

“ There never was any one else,” she pro- 
tested — there never could have been any one 
else ; and the secret was not her own at all. 
Only — she could not tell it. And Unite, 
reassured by the first part of her answer, de- 
clared he didn’t mind her having a thou- 


266 Polly's Secret 

sand secrets if they were not about a rival. 
So they came out of the bridge into the crim- 
son sunset, and up to the tavern door. 

Jane looked critically at the meagre con- 
tents of the basket. 

“Well, that seems to have worked all 
right,” she murmured to herself. “I’m one 
of the kind that believes in givin’ folks a lift 
whenever I see the need.” 

Landlord Brooks welcomed Unite to his 
family circle with characteristic frankness. 

“ There ain’t another man livin’ that could 
have my Polly,” he declared, shaking the 
young man’s hand vigorously. “ I ’ve kept an 
eye on you, and I know the stuff you ’re made 
of. Bless you, boy, I don’t mind your begin- 
ning low down. Polly won’t, maybe, carry 
the style Debby does, but that won’t trouble 
her. As for me and her mother, one rich 
son-in-law is enough. Not that I ’ve got a 
word to say against Enoch, though maybe he 
don’t wear quite so well ’s we thought at first. 
But you’ve got to summer and winter folks 


Polly's Secret 267 

to know ’em thoroughly, and the most of us 
have our outs when you come to get down 
to ’em.” 

Landlord Brooks spoke cautiously. Never 
before had he hinted by word or look to any 
person that Enoch Train, on his native soil, 
engrossed in business, was not quite the same 
as Enoch Train on a holiday visit to Bloom- 
field. And not even to his wife would he 
confess that he stood in awe of the grave, 
preoccupied, and sometimes irritable man 
who was Debby’s husband. It was all right, 
he decided, since Debby was satisfied, well 
aware that Polly, under the same circum- 
stances, would have been miserable. 

Against Unite’s vigorous protests Mr. 
Brooks insisted on building a house for the 
young couple and furnishing it throughout, 
declaring he could afford to do well by Polly. 

“ Debby ’s well fixed and won’t need any- 
thing from me,” he said. And a few weeks 
later, when business called him to Falmouth, 
he repeated the remark to Deborah’s husband. 


268 Polly's Secret 

Somewhat to his surprise, Enoch failed to 
agree with him, and quoted several proverbs 
to prove the uncertainty of wealth, finally 
hinting for the first time that his uncle’s 
son might be alive. 

“Though of course he isn’t,” he added 
hastily, as if regretting the admission. 
“ There was every needful proof of his 
death.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


E ARLY in July Jane took the black 
crape and ribbon from her bonnet, 
bleached the bonnet with sulphur 
under a half barrel in the back yard, and re- 
trimmed it with white to “ appear out” in. 

“I’ve mourned longer ’n I calculated to,” 
she confessed to Polly. “ But after bein’ 
engaged to Sam, and we naturally goin’ round 
some together, and him with the weed on his 
hat, it looked sort of in keepin’ for me to 
continue. Besides I felt like a sort of a 
relative to poor Drusy. Land alive, to think 
she was here a year ago, with no thought of 
dyin’. I ’d rather have waited till the year 
was up if it had n’t been for hayin’-time 
cornin’ in jest as it did.” 

Sam, a little in doubt as to the etiquette of 
mourning, came to be married with the weed 


270 Polly's Secret 

still on his hat — a fact which Jane never 
knew, for Polly surreptitiously removed it, 
and substituted a plain black ribbon, while 
Jane was putting the finishing touches to her 
simple toilet, and giving Mirandy last in- 
structions as to her duties. 

It was a busy winter for Polly. Her days 
were occupied with preparations for her new 
home, and Unite claimed most of her evenings. 
But Polly often felt that her secret lay like a 
shadow between them, and Unite, though 
belonging to the sex that is totally devoid of 
curiosity, often wondered what secret Polly 
could possibly have which he might not 
share. 

Spring came, and again the old tavern was 
decked for a grand wedding, for Mr. Brooks 
insisted it should be the counterpart of 
Deborah’s. Unite had no fine city relatives, 
but his family was one of the best in Bloom- 
field, and made up in numbers whatever it 
might lack in grandeur. Deborah came to 


Polly's Secret 271 

the wedding, but to Polly’s great relief Enoch 
could not leave his business. He sent a beau- 
tiful tea-service, which Polly kept sacredly 
and returned to the Train family long years 
later as a wedding present to Deborah’s oldest 
grandson. 

Deborah was glad to be home again, 
though she worried much about her house- 
hold, and refused to prolong her visit. There 
was so much to see to in a house like hers. 
And Enoch was troubled about business 
matters. 

She looked a little dubious over Polly’s 
prospects. 

“ If you only had come to us for a year,” 
she regretted. “With your looks (for you 
are good-looking, Polly) and the clothes father 
would have got you, you might have made a 
fine match.” 

But Polly, with a little courtesy for the 
compliment, assured her sister she did n’t care 
to be chosen for either her clothes or her 
looks. The bride’s last act before donning 


272 


Polly's Secret 

her wedding garments was to steal softly to 
the attic and take from its long resting-place 
the leather case. Again she stopped beside 
the window — her favorite window — and 
looked up through the budding trees into the 
sunset sky. How still it was. The evening 
song of the frogs, thin and shrill against the 
heavy rush of the river, floated upward to 
her ears. Polly’s heart suddenly went out in 
a great glow of tender love to the home she 
was leaving. She almost wished she were a 
little girl again to live over all the happy 
years. Only she would want to find Unite 
waiting for her at the end of them. 

The earliest Bloomfield settlers have been 
said to be fond of a wide outlook, since each 
planted his home on the top of a high hill. 
So that hill-tops at last came to be at a pre- 
mium, and the younger generations were 
forced to content themselves with the valleys. 
Unite, however, was so fortunate as to possess 
an unappropriated hill-top, across which the 


273 


Polly's Secret 

new road now passed. And here, in their 
large square house, far more imposing than 
Unite would have built for himself, the 
young couple commenced their new life. 
Village-bred, Polly might have been lonesome 
so far from home, but for the wide outlook 
her windows commanded. To the north the 
broad valley and the village nestled in a bend 
of the river. To the south were rolling hills, 
each crowned with a neighbor’s dwelling, and 
in the distance now and then a gleam of the 
same shining river. This was far above her 
attic window, and Polly felt the horizons that 
had bounded her old life widening day by 
day. Doubt and discouragement seemed 
foreign to her new world, and she sang as 
she went about her baking or spinning. Only 
sometimes a thought of the secret in the 
locked drawer of the old secretary — Squire 
Bodwell’s wedding gift — checked the song 
and sent her to her knees to ask for light. 
Located not far from the town-house, their 
farm was about an equal distance from the 
18 


274 Polly's Secret 

Taylor farm, the village, and Jane’s new 
home. 

“ Right in the centre of things,” Polly 
declared. 

Friend Taylor fell into the habit of driv- 
ing across that way when he went to town, 
not infrequently bringing Aunt Ruth to visit 
while he was gone. Sam and Jane, with one 
small Grimes between them and two sitting 
on boxes in front drove over often on Sun- 
day afternoons. And when summer came 
Polly persuaded the Misses Putnam to come 
for a week. But the visit ended on the fourth 
day, for Miss Huldah, with many apologies, 
confided to Polly that Miriam was homesick. 

“We are having a delightful visit, my 
dear, and if Miriam could be contented any- 
where it would be with you,” she said, “ but 
we have n’t slept out of our house before in 
thirty years.” 

So Unite harnessed, and carried them home. 
Before leaving, Miss Miriam mysteriously 
drew Polly aside. 


Polly's Secret 275 

“ Don’t feel we are slighting your hospital- 
ity, my dear,” she said. “ I would not think 
of cutting short our visit, only Huldah is such 
a home body she cannot be contented away 
from our own fireside. She was always so 
from a child.” 

Polly smiled to herself, perceiving that 
both of the sisters were anxious to get away, 
yet fearful lest they were wanting in polite- 
ness. “ Of course they would rather be at 
home,” she assured Unite, and after that 
invited them often, but only to spend the 
day. 

With the autumn came news from Fal- 
mouth. Deborah had a little son — an heir 
to the Train wealth. But to Unite’s dismay, 
Polly received the news with tears and no 
word of his could comfort her. Her nephew 
— Deborah’s baby — from whom she must 
some day take his inheritance. The thought 
troubled her continually. And when, in the 
spring, Deborah came home to display her 
new treasure, Polly listened to the great 


276 Polly's Secret 

plans for his future with a grave face, and 
disappointed Deborah by her lack of interest 
in the baby. 

“You don’t make half the fuss over him 
you used to over those little red-haired 
Grimeses,” Deborah declared. 

And Polly could not explain that the 
baby’s likeness to his father restrained her 
from fondling him. 

“ I wish he looked more like you, Debby,” 
she said wistfully one day. But Deborah 
laughed. 

“ That ’s sensible, when Enoch ’s twice as 
good-looking as I am,” she replied. “ He 
just suits his mother, bless his little heart ! 
He ’s going to be a great man when he grows 
up. We shall send him to Europe to be edu- 
cated, I think.” 

“ I would, and make a foreigner of him,” 
replied Polly shortly. “ I don’t see why 
America isn’t good enough for any boy.” 

“ It is, for common boys,” replied the 
baby’s mother. “ Don’t be spiteful, Polly, or 


Polly's Secret 277 

I shall think you are envious, and envy ’s 
something I never knew you to show before.” 

But envy was the last feeling in Polly’s 
heart. And when, a year later, she held her 
own little son in her arms, it was with a feel- 
ing of thankfulness that he was heir to no 
grand property. He was a fine child, every- 
one said, and Polly felt sure of it, since 
Unite’s parents declared he was clear Bod- 
well, while to her own family his every 
motion brought up dead and gone Brooks. 
They had been quite content that Deborah’s 
boy should be a Train. 


CHAPTER XX 


P OLLY was singing as she washed the 
dishes one August evening. Mirandy 
since the baby's birth had lived with 
Polly as “help,” her sister Susan supplying 
her place at the tavern. But an epidemic of 
measles among the small Grimeses’ had 
aroused Polly’s sympathy, and she gladly 
spared Mirandy to Jane for a few days. 

“ Though you must be careful and not 
bring home measles in your clothes,” she 
cautioned. 

It had been an important day, for little 
James had cut his first tooth, and the proud 
father, who now felt his son had com- 
menced life in earnest, had carried him out 
to-night to see the lambs. 

The sun’s last rays flashed obliquely 
through the north window and lay red on the 
sanded floor. 













279 


Polly's Secret 

“ As on some lonely building top 
The sparrow tells her moan,” 

sang Polly. 

The song ceased suddenly as she heard a 
strange voice mingling with Unite’s in the 
yard, and a moment later a tall form dark- 
ened the kitchen door. 

“ Is Polly Jane Brooks in ? ” the stranger 
asked. 

“ That was once my name, sir,” replied 
Polly graciously, wiping her hands on her 
apron that she might set forth a chair for 
him. “ Will you be seated, sir ? ” 

Then all at once her face grew white and 
her limbs seemed to tremble beneath her. 
For in the stranger’s outstretched palm lay 
the broken half of the wedding ring. 

“ I am William Train,” he said. 

The thin, sallow face bore little likeness to 
the fair boy of the miniature, but every tone 
and gesture recalled to Polly the father who 
had left his papers in her care. There could 
be no doubt of his identity. Like one in a 


280 Polly's Secret 

dream, she took the desk key from its hanging 
place inside the clock and opened the secret 
drawer, first fitting her half of the ring care- 
fully to his. The burden of years seemed to 
roll forever from her heart as she laid the 
package in his hands. Then she sought her 
husband, for the secret was a secret no longer, 
and, while the stranger opened the package, 
Unite listened in wonder to Polly’s strange 
story. 

“ And you kept it all these years, Polly ? ” 
Unite inquired again and again. “ How 
could you do it, child, with Enoch Train 
searching as he did ? ” 

Far into the night they sat, listening to 
William Train’s tale of wanderings and mis- 
fortune. He had been sent to the interior, as 
his father had said. On the journey a fall 
from his horse had caused severe injuries, 
and, deserted by his cowardly attendants, he 
had lain for months in the hut of a friendly 
native unable to leave his cot. His host had 
been an Indian of the lowest caste, with 


28 i 


Polly's Secret 

nothing to lose, else even that rude shelter 
would have been denied. When sufficiently 
recovered from the long illness to travel, he 
had fallen in with a company of Englishmen 
journeying towards the hills, and joined 
them. The money entrusted to him by his 
employers had been stolen by the attendants. 
Believing that he must long since have been 
condemned as a defaulter he determined not 
to return to Calcutta. Then came years of 
wandering from one place to another. Again 
and again he had written to his father, but 
received no reply. Finally, from Australia, 
whither he at last drifted, he wrote to Enoch 
Train begging for news from home, and then 
in response to his second urgent letter had 
received a brief reply. His father was dead, 
Enoch informed him with many expressions 
of sympathy, and the fine property he was 
supposed to possess had been found sadly dim- 
inished. He, Enoch, had been appointed ad- 
ministrator and was doing his best to dispose 
of the property to the best advantage. He 


282 Polly's Secret 

forwarded to his cousin the sum of three 
thousand dollars, and thought it might be 
possible by close management to realize as 
much more. At two different periods later, 
he had sent one thousand dollars more. 

“We were boys together,” William Train 
said bitterly, “ and I trusted him. Sometimes 
I wish I had never found him out. That 
three thousand dollars, fortunately invested, 
has become a fine property in the last four 
years. I was well content in Australia and 
might never have returned ; but a year ago I 
chanced one day to meet on the street of 
Melbourne a clerk who had worked beside me 
in the Calcutta house. And from him I 
learned that I was believed to be dead, and 
that no thought of dishonor had ever been 
attached to my name. As soon as I could 
arrange my business, I went to India once 
more, sought out my old employers and tried 
to force upon them the amount they had lost 
through me, but they would not hear of it. 
It will be my lifelong regret that I deserted 


Polly's Secret 283 

in that cowardly fashion, instead of going 
back to them like a man. Why did I do it ? 
I have asked myself over and over, and tried 
to believe that the long sickness had affected 
my mind. Ah, well, when I got back to 
Calcutta and received my father’s anxious 
letters, it was years too late. But with those 
letters I found yours. Even then I did not 
dream of Enoch’s treachery, but believed the 
absence of the papers accounted for the loss 
of property. Without going back to Austra- 
lia, I sailed for home at once. And what a 
welcome ! Not one person I had ever known 
recognized me. Enoch laughed in my face, 
and declared I bore no resemblance to his 
cousin. His brother, a conceited hoy whose 
small brain would never have conceived so 
daring a plan, ordered me from their office on 
my second visit.” The bitter tone changed 
to one of triumph as he examined the papers 
and saw how complete his revenge could be. 
He would take from his cousins his own and 
all they had added to it, and brand Enoch 


284 Polly's Secret 

Train before all the world for the traitor he 
was. Not that he wanted the money ; there 
was wealth sufficient for his needs back in 
Australia, where he would soon return. His 
native land had no attractions for him. But 
he would have revenge for the greed that had 
made his father’s last days miserable, and 
withheld his birthright. 

Polly turned imploringly towards him. 

“ Oh, sir,” she pleaded, “ speak not such 
words. Life is short and there is no time in 
it for bitterness and revenge.” The stern 
man shook his head, but his face softened as 
he gazed at her. 

“Not for you,” he said. “Your heart is 
tender, but mine has grown hard in battling 
with the world. I will have my revenge.” 

But Polly pleaded still. 

“Then, for my sake,” she said. “Enoch 
Train is my sister’s husband. His son is my 
nephew. Must they be ruined and their 
name dishonored through my act of conceal- 
ment ? Think how well I kept this secret. 


Polly's Secret 285 

How the burden of it shadowed my childhood. 
Must it now bring sorrow and disgrace to 
those I love and estrange my only sister from 
me ? ” William Train’s face settled into lines 
of obstinacy as if he were steeling his heart 
against her words. 

Polly caught the miniature from among 
the papers and opened it. The frank open 
face smiled up at her. 

“Look at this/’ she said, thrusting it be- 
fore the man’s eyes. “This boy had no 
thought for revenge or self. All these years 
I have trusted that face and rested in the 
belief that he would make it easy for me 
when he came. Can you be that boy ? ” 

William Train took the picture. Who can 
tell what emotions stirred him as he came 
thus face to face with a vision of his dead 
youth ? What reproach for ideals unsatisfied 
those clear eyes held for him ! There was a 
long silence as he gazed upon it, lost to all 
sense of the present. He laid it down at last 
with a heavy sigh. 


286 Polly's Secret 

“ You are right/’ he said. “ That boy had 
a heart that trusted all the world.” His 
head dropped upon his hand, and he seemed 
lost in reverie. Unite tiptoed softly to the 
next room in response to a sound from the 
sleeping baby. Polly waited silently. 

William Train raised his head. 

“ So be it,” he said sullenly. “ You force 
me to forego the strongest purpose I have 
ever known, but for the one who comforted 
my dying father I will do it. Because your 
sister is his wife I will forbear to publish his 
treachery toward me. More than that, I will 
even leave him a part of the property for 
which he has sold his honor. But in this way 
only. His house, bought with my father’s 
money, and his business, which was my 
father’s, I will take possession of with the 
other property. But I will then by legal 
process transfer the house and business to 
you, and you, if you will, shall give them to 
him. For myself, I have sworn that I would 
not give him one dollar. I would far rather 


Polly's Secret 287 

give the same amount to you for your own, 
however.” 

But Unite interrupted proudly. 

“ My wife wants none of it,” he said. “ I 
care little for Enoch Train. He is purse- 
proud and haughty, and toward you he has 
acted basely. I almost question if it is right 
to let such villainy go unpunished. But if 
for Polly’s sake you will spare him it is all 
the reward she wants. Transfer the prop- 
erty to her if you will and in the same hour 
we will give it back to your cousin. This 
paper alone, which your father gave my wife, 
she may keep or not as she sees fit.” 

William Train smiled. 

“ It is of little value,” he said. “ My poor 
father had a mania for buying wild land, and 
this tract is most inaccessible. It would not 
sell for fifty dollars.” 

A week later there was another gathering 
at Bloomfield Tavern, when Polly signed the 
papers that gave to Enoch Train a small por- 


288 


P oily's Secret 

tion of the property he had held dishonestly. 
The younger brother, Abner, William declined 
to recognize in the matter. Enoch might 
divide with him if he would — he should 
give him nothing. But Enoch, arguing that 
he had taken all the risk, decided that duty 
to his family required him to keep the prop- 
erty in his own hands. 

Enoch had been forced to recognize his 
cousin, and had passed some anxious days 
before he learned what was to be done. The 
full force of the man’s audacity came out in 
the present crisis, as he called William’s 
attention to the skilful manner in which the 
business had been conducted, and boldly 
claimed that he had never considered the 
property his own — he was holding it in 
trust. 

“It was far better to manage it in my 
name,” he explained with elaborate detail. 
“ Had people understood that the real owner 
was on the other side of the world, there 
would have been endless complications.” So 


Polly's Secret 289 

full of plausible excuses was his explanation, 
so assured his manner of accepting the situa- 
tion, that William, in spite of himself, softened 
towards him. And even Polly questioned if 
she had not misjudged him. Not so Land- 
lord Brooks. 

“ He ’s pretty slick,” he declared, “ but he ’s 
fooled me for the last time. I ’m a good 
while seem’ through people, but once is 
enough.” 

“ ’Twa’ n’t to be supposed you should under- 
stand it,” he remarked contemptuously when 
Enoch betrayed his amazement at William’s 
decision. “ It takes a pretty high-minded 
man to understand what he ’s doin’, much less 
to do it.” 

Only to Mr. and Mrs. Brooks was the true 
story of Enoch’s dishonesty confided. It was 
carefully guarded from Deborah, who, for her 
part, was much inclined to be indignant with 
Polly. 

But Enoch, well understanding all that he 
owed to Polly’s intercession, professed great 
19 


290 Polly's Secret 

admiration for her sagacity, and incensed his 
wife by declaring he always considered Polly 
the smartest of the family; which praise 
annoyed Polly far more than her sister’s 
blame. As for her parents, the mother could 
only blame herself for sending a child to wait 
on a sick stranger, while the father, who could 
see no fault in his youngest daughter, declared 
she had acted like a true descendant of the 
Brooks. “ Though I should n’t have ap- 
proved of it, if I ’d known at the time,” he 
acknowledged with his usual candor, remem- 
bering his distress at the loss of the package. 

But Unite comforted her most, when he 
said in a tone that reached her ear alone, 
“ It was Polly all over. Never thinking of 
the consequences to herself.” 

After it was all done, Polly stole away alone 
to the attic window. The burden of secrecy 
gone, she half expected to find the old glamour 
over all the scene. But no — the sky was as 
blue, the hills as fair, the river sang its old 
song. But it was a woman’s eye and ear that 


291 


Polly's Secret 

looked and listened. The mystery was gone, 
but life was fuller — richer than the child had 
ever dreamed. And Polly was content. 

It was only last week that Polly’s oldest 
grandson, a young business man of Bloomfield, 
rushed into his grandmother’s pretty sitting- 
room on Locke Hill. “ Grandma,” he cried 
excitedly, “ the Kennebec Lumber Company 
have just offered me twenty thousand dollars 
for that timber land of yours.” The sweet- 
faced old lady dropped her knitting in surprise, 
while her husband looked over his glasses at 
the young man. “ Well, well,” he said slowly, 
“if I ’d dreamed ’t was worth so much, mother, 
I don’t know ’s I should have been willing to 
keep it.” 


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